Bastian hardly seems to hear me. He's still speaking, almost to himself. "It should be possible for you to disguise it."

"What?" I ask. "How would I do that?" Does he really remember all of this from some old book, or is there more at play, here?

"Just..." he looks around again, then pulls me deeper into a private alcove. When his fingers brush my arm, I feel a jolt like lightning, stronger than when he touched me before the trial. The silver mark flares in response. Energy, cool and flowing like air seems to fill me.

Bastian pulls his hand back as if burned, eyes shifting to my mark warily, but the concern vanishes almost instantly. "Close your eyes, clear your senses, and focus on the mark. Your life will be easier if you pick water or air. But whatever you choose, try to visualize the mark changing."

I don’t bother questioning if it’s possible. I need it to be. I need some way to hide this, so I close my eyes and think about which mark to choose. Which affinity.

Earth and fire are historically dominant elements in Red Kingdom. Choosing them would mean a lifetime of reactions like the one Mireen gave Nolan before the trial. It would mean suspicion and increased scrutiny.

It’s like Bastian said… my life will be easier if I pick water or air, even if neither element represents what I feel inside.

I still feel like fire, ready to lash out and burn everything around me to ash after the last few days. But that's not the normal me. It's not the girl who grew up loving her time on the waters in Saltcrest's bay. The girl who spent half her life reading currents and finding fish.

In the end, choosing anything but water would feel like running from my past. And maybe this place is going to claim my life before long, but I’m done running.

I squeeze my eyes shut, thinking about my father and brothers. I picture the flowing wave pattern I've seen on other hands. I reach for the memory of salt spray on my face, the rhythm of waves against our small boat, the peace I used to feel watching the tide roll in.

A sensation like icy fingers crawls across my palm. My skin stretches and pulls as if being remolded by invisible hands. Heat flashes through my veins, followed by bone-deep cold, then both at once. I clench my teeth around a grunt of pain, brows furrowing as I focus through the discomfort until the sensations finally subside.

When I open my eyes, the mark has changed—appearing as a blue wave on my palm. Looking closely, I can still see threads of silver tracing through it like veins of quicksilver, but unless someone was specifically looking for them, they'd never notice.

"How did I—" I stare at my hand in disbelief.