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“What…?” I whisper, taking a hesitant step closer.

My first thought is that there’s a fire somewhere, but there’s no smoke. There’s no flame or heat anywhere, either. Nothing except the clean outline of two hands seared into the stone.

The edges are cracked. They spiderweb across the floor like clay baked too long beneath the hot sun. My lips feel numb. My fingers shake as I crouch between the handprints. Warily, I lower both hands until they hover directly over them.

A perfect match.

“What…” I repeat, voice shaking, “…the fuck.”

I jerk my hands away, stumbling upright. Thrusting them out in front of me, I search for any sign of soot or blisters from heat or… or… Fates, anything that will explain this.

What have I done?

I think back, replaying every moment since yesterday morning. I’m sure they weren’t here then. I went to the Lost Room. I worked. I came back up here. I fell asleep…

Then, Caelan. And Lenora.

Fates, I’d been so angry. So incredibly mad at Lenora for ripping me away from my Mate. I’d yelled….

Then I’d slammed my hands on the floor and⁠—

And the stone had⁠—

No. No, no, no. That isn’t possible. Omega’s don’t—we don’t⁠—

How?

“Omega!” Cage’s voice is thunderous. “Did you just curse?”

I raise a shaking hand to my lips, mind spinning.

What do I do now? Do I tell him?

‘Don’t ever let them see, daughter. Hide everything. Hide.’

“Omega! Let’s go!”

“C-Coming! Sorry!” I yank the blanket and pillow over the scorched floor with shaking hands, haphazardly covering the prints as best I can and praying no one comes up here before I figure out how the heck I’ll get rid of them.

I throw open the door to a disheveled Cage, fist poised to knock again. He shoots me one of his signature dirty looks, eyeing me up and down in obvious distaste.

“What the hell took you so long?”

“I… uhh,” I flounder, searching for an excuse. “I couldn’t find any clean clothes.”

That’s the best I’ve got? Really?

He narrows his eyes at me. “Why were you cursing? I’ve never heard you curse.” He says it like he thinks he knows me. What makes it even worse is that he’s right. I rarely curse. Of course, I’m pretty sure finding scorch marks burned into the floor in the shape of your own hands warrants at least one ‘fuck.’

“I found a clean shirt, but my pants were dirty. I don’t like wearing dirty clothes.”

Wow. Nailed it, Idril. Brilliant.

He snorts like he thinks I’m ridiculous. “Is that some kind of Omega thing?”

We reach the bottom of the stairs, and he lets the door swing shut in my face even though I’m clearly right behind him.

“Yeah,” I mutter, barely preventing myself from rolling my eyes as I catch the door with my fingers. “Must be an Omega thing.”