I crouch on the edge of the fountain and stare at my lack of reflection in the silver water. “What is it, Shadow?” Jeyt clicks at my shoulder.

Ice clinking against the glass as she rolled her cup, Magalie watched the vein pulse in the large man’s forehead. “Might want to get that checked out,” she said dryly.

I wake to the voice of the storm, flashes of crimson lightning painting cracks across the wall.

We swim in the tepid water of the lake, limbs turning pink beneath the yellow sun. My hair floats around me, tangling with Cora’s fingers

I watch, mortified, as Nuarthan walks past my hiding place on the dry ground above. By some miracle, he doesn't find my footprints.