She does not wear the long sleeved shirts to hide them.
She is afraid it will be to obvious if she does this is this hot Mediterranean summer.
The scars simply blend in with the others.
The others, made by monsters and those horrors from her past.
None of the other campers had ever said a word.
But he noticed.
He noticed, and that night she went to bed with a chill.
"What's that?" he asks, pointing at the bold red lines criss-crossing her arms.
They are sitting on the deck, Echo and Leo on watch.
She glances at the wounds.
"Oh, nothing. Harpy attack from last night."
He does not believe her, but he fears to say anything.
"Must've been some vicious harpies."
"Yeah. You'd think they'd be all soft, playing a harp."
Leo snorts.
"Sorry. Terrible puns is my thing."
"Nah, fine. Cheesy and corny are my favorite qualities."
"So you like Cheetos?"
"How could you know?"
"Oh, shush."
It bothers him later how her dark, fractured eyes didn't seem to meet his when she spoke.