Kiva moved her eyes to the ceiling, unable to look at him while offering such a raw glimpse of her past.

“I was twelve years old the first time I had to carve Zalindov’s symbol into someone’s flesh,” she said, barely audible, as if still deciding whether she wanted to be heard or not. “The Heartless Carver—you’ve heard their name for me. But despite what they think, despite how they see me act, I feel every single one of those marks, on every single person I carve. And I have for five years.”

Jaren shifted toward her, but Kiva didn’t return her gaze to him.

“I don’t do it anymore,” she whispered, one hand unconsciously moving to the blanket over her thigh. “But in the early days . . . I felt too much, and I had no one to talk to about it. Every time I carved someone, I needed an emotional release afterward, I needed to atone,” she said. “So, for every person I carved, I . . . I cut myself, too. Later, of course—when no one was around. No one ever knew.”

She drew in a deep breath and mustered the courage to pull aside the blanket, just enough to reveal the scars on both thighs, the rest of her still covered by Naari’s cloak.

She trailed a finger across the pink lines smudged now with charcoal, their severity having faded over the years since she’d stopped self-harming.

“Looking back, I’m not sure if I was punishing myself for hurting others or if I thought that, by sharing in their pain, I was standing with them, even if they didn’t know, and would never know.” She swallowed. “But when it became an addiction, I knew I had to stop. I recognized the signs once I started craving the pain, the rush of endorphins that broke through the all-consuming numbness I felt. And I knew it wasn’t healthy, knew I wouldn’t be able to help anyone else if I didn’t first help myself.”

She swallowed again. “It wasn’t easy to stop. But I took it one day at a time, one new carving at a time, and eventually the numbness faded, along with the need to hurt myself.” She ran her fingers over her scars again, and admitted, “I still feel the guilt. Every single time. But I also know that the blame isn’t on me, and I think that’s what helps the most. That’s what keeps me from falling back into old habits.” She paused, staring at the faded pink lines before finishing, “Well, that, and focusing on healing everyone who comes to me. I never want to risk not being there for them, for any reason—especially one that’s self-inflicted.”