Lucia sat motionless in the corner of her cell, her mind racing, when the cell door clanked open without warning. Two guards stepped inside, their expressions unreadable.
"You're free to go," one of them said simply.
She blinked. "What…?"
Before she could process it, Marek appeared, his presence sharp and cold as ever. He stepped forward, his boots echoing against the metal floor.
"The general has decided to give you a second chance," Marek said, his voice laced with disdain. "Though I still don't understand why he'd waste military resources on a traitor."
Lucia's eyes narrowed. "I'm not a traitor. I did what I had to do to protect—"
"Save your excuses," Marek cut her off. "I'm not here to argue."
He raised his hand, glowing faintly with a bluish hue as he activated his skill: [Tracking]. A thin, searing mark shimmered into existence on Lucia's upper arm, an intricate, glowing tattoo-like sigil.
