Marcus gently examined the scratches marking Rachel's arm, his jaw tightening with barely restrained fury as he took in the details more closely — recent, clearly the result of someone gripping her forcefully enough to break skin. "Rachel," he said again, softer now but no less urgent, "please tell me what happened. Who did this?"
Rachel's breath came in shaky, uneven gasps, her eyes darting briefly toward her father before returning to Marcus's face. "I tried to hide it," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I didn't want you to come home from deployment and have to deal with this on top of everything else. I thought I could manage it myself."
"Manage what?" Marcus's voice remained controlled, though the effort required to keep it that way was becoming increasingly visible in the tension along his jaw and the sharp focus of his gaze. "Rachel, look at me. What has been happening while I've been gone?"
Her father shifted uncomfortably near the doorway, and Marcus's attention snapped toward him with an intensity that made the older man visibly flinch.