Page 838 of End Game

“I’m not the cult leader.”

All three men answer at once.

“Ronan.”

Jules looks at him.

Ronan sighs. “Apparently.”

We move to Jules’s station.

I’ve been on this side of the machine plenty of times. There’s nothing novel about having someone tattoo me. I’ve had artists work on me for hours, fallen asleep under needles, designed half the shit on my body myself, and traded work for most of the rest.

But when Jules places Cami’s d20 stencil on my forearm, I can’t stop staring at it.

My arm.

Her mark.

Our mark now.

“You happy there?” Jules asks.

“Yeah.”

They start, and the first sting is familiar enough that I barely register it.

What I do register is Dex’s hand landing on my shoulder.

Griffin standing behind him.

Ronan beside the station, his newly bandaged forearm resting against his chest.

They aren’t really watching the tattoo.

They’re watching me.

And fuck if that doesn’t make the whole thing harder.

Or easier.

Maybe both.

Jules works quickly. When they finish, I sit up and stare at the fresh ink.

“I’ve got a lot of tattoos,” I say, and my voice sounds rougher than I expect.

Dex squeezes my shoulder once.

I keep looking at my arm.

“I think this might be the most meaningful one I’ve ever gotten.”

Nobody makes a joke.

Not even Dex.

Somehow, that’s the thing that almost fucking breaks me.