ARIANE:
More soap.
Scrub harder.
Hotter water.
I slammed my fists against the sink, the sound echoing like a war cry, trembling through the marble and into my bones.
My skin is clean, but I still feel the ash on my fingers beneath my nails.
It clings to my memory, to the raw edges of my soul—soot, smoke, and flame etched into the very marrow of me.
I glance down at my hands again. I can't bring myself to look in the mirror. But my hands…
I can’t look away.
They aren’t shaking… but they should be.
I should feel broken. Instead, I feel… hollow.
Something inside me cracked open in that field; what poured out wasn’t just fire. It was darker, not entirely mine.
Varek’s hand brushes mine—just a whisper of contact. No heat. No pressure. Just him grounding me.
“I thought I lost you,”
