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    Summary

    You’ve done well. Rest now.

    “Have you memorized it well enough?” Dottore asked, with a grin that could be called a leer if there was even a hint of sensuality to it instead of the cold, clinical detachment in his gaze.

    “It’s my soul mark.” Childe rolled his eyes, his tone brittle as he barely concealed the ache in his heart and the sick swoop of fear in his stomach. “Of course I memorized it.”

    “Good. Because it may not come back, even once the Delusion is removed.”

    “I know.” Childe drew in a deep breath. “I’m ready. For Her Majesty.”

    He took one last look at the mark, black against his pale skin, and steeled himself for what was to come. Knowing Dottore, it was going to hurt.

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