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Summary
“Alright, but listen,” Elliot said, lazily tossing a pillow at Cedric. “If I had a soulmark, I’d want it to say ‘E.T.C’—get it? Etcetera. Because I’m a man of endless possibilities.”
“More like endless bullshit,” Malcolm scoffed, sprawled on Cedric’s floor with his back against the bed. “Watch, Diggory’s gonna get something dumb, like ‘J.K.L’—Just Kidding, Loser.”
Cedric rolled his eyes, tugging his sleeve down over his forearm, though the newly etched initials burned against his skin. H.J.P. With a small, delicate fawn resting beneath it, curled as if it had been running and finally found a place to rest.
He exhaled sharply. “I got one.”
Silence. Then—
“What?”