The brand above Riya’s mound had healed into a perfect, raised scar—deep crimson fading to dark maroon at the edges, the crescent-dagger sigil now as much a part of her skin as her own heartbeat. Two weeks had passed since the Hunt. She no longer spent days chained to the courtyard platform; Arjun had moved her permanently into his private quarters—a low-ceilinged stone room carved into the fortress’s innermost wall, furnished only with a wide pallet of thick camel-wool blankets, a low brass table, and iron rings set into every wall at various heights.

But tonight he brought the circle back.