Page 93 of The Devil's Canvas

Liora gestures toward the velvet sofas. “Sit. Unless the Claim completely obliterated your spine.”

“Almost,” I say, dropping onto the couch. “But Julian has fast hands.”

Evander chuckles, clearly approving. Liora sips her wine like she didn’t hear that—though the glint in her eye says otherwise.

“So,” she says, studying me. “You’re still glowing.”

“Is that normal?”

“For someone who just died and came back in fire? Yes. You’re stabilizing. It’ll pass.”

“You say that like it’s casual,” I mutter.

“It becomes casual,” Evander says. “Eventually.”

I hesitate. “Can I ask something?”

Evander lifts a brow. “You can try.”

“You’re... bonded, right?”

Liora brushes her hair off her shoulder and unclasps her blazer and pulls it aside—just enough to reveal what lies beneath.

The Mark. Just above her heart, carved into the same place mine lives.

Same shape. Same golden curl spiraled around the black. Only hers looks older—etched deeper, like it’s lived through war.

My breath catches. “It’s just like mine.”

Liora nods, calm and certain. “It should be,” she says softly. There’s something in her eyes—recognition, maybe. Or memory.

“You weren’t born with it?”

“No. I was mortal,” she says, folding her blazer closed with easy grace. “But the moment Evander saw me, it burned across my skin. Just like yours did.”

Evander’s expression hardens. “The bond always works that way. It sears itself into the soul. No questions. No mercy. Just truth.”

Julian brushes his fingers against mine, grounding me. “It’s how you know it’s real,” he murmurs, glancing down at my collar where my Mark glows faintly beneath the fabric. “There’s no going back.”

I stare at them, throat tight. “I thought it was because I’m the Weaver. Or the Claim. Something special.”

Liora tilts her head, voice gentler now. “It is special. But not unprecedented. This bond is ancient. The Mark chooses—but it’s only the beginning.”

“The bond doesn’t seal just because it appears,” Evander adds, leaning forward. “It takes time. Pain. Will.”

Julian nods. “Ours burned long before the Claim. It doesn’t all happen at once.”

“You need the space between,” Liora says. “Between the Mark and the Claim. That’s where the soul shifts. Where you decide what you’ll become.”

I’m still trying to process all of it when Evander leans back with a wicked grin. “She screamed, by the way. When the Mark hit.”

Liora lifts a brow, unbothered. “I broke a window. Punched a priest.”

“What?” I say, my eyes fluttering like the words didn’t land right.

“It was a dramatic time,” she says, swirling her wine. “Bloodletting. Corsets. Powdered wigs. My soul combusted in the middle of a wedding.”

Julian laughs. “You were getting married?”

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