His back. My quiet gasp is uncontrollable, and Xaden tenses for a second before taking his shirt from Garrick’s outstretched hand and tugging it over his head, covering the navy-blue relic of a dragon that sweeps from his waist to over both shoulders—textured intricately with raised silver lines I couldn’t see from across the gym. Silver lines I instantly recognize as scars.
*gasp* who did this to you?!
