I learned to walk stealthily.
Learned to lie.
Learned to steal another person’s essence as my own, going deeper than the skin, and scooping enough of their magic into myself to experience a whisper of what makes them tick.
Any veydra can identify birth marks and freckles and hairstyles, but only the best can become their target, absorbing everything—from the way they move to the way they think. It’s painfully simple, really. In order to become, you must first see, and I mastered that long before I studied under Barthol.
The amber mask I wear is my lone rebellion.
Most veydran can’t stomach the sight of our binding, but I don’t want to forget. Inhumanly smooth and impossible to ignore, it belongs to me alone. And if I can’t be myself, I’ll be damned if I pretend to be someone else.
That’s why Celine fascinates me.
Her sense of self is unshakable. It makes me wonder what it would be like to go through life confidently. Fiercely vibrant. If I’m not careful, my curiosity will destroy me, leaving me as empty and husk-like as Luca thinks I am.
A twig snaps.
It could be nothing, but I know better.
My hand hovers above my pocket. I’ve got enough distance between me and the tree... I could use the witch stone to transport myself home without leaving a trace of Hyacinth’s magic that could lead someone to the tree.
But I want to know what I’m up against.
Slowly, I scan the forest. Nothing catches my eye. Blotting out my view of the curved horizon, the trees stretch into the clouds. They’re doing their best to get as far away from this cursed realm as the rest of us.
The feeling of being watched rakes over my skin.
It could be a bird, but my gut tells me it’s not.Get out of here.Listening to my instincts, I stuff my hand in my pocket and squeeze thestone.
The forest vanishes. Nausea combines with dread as I’m transported home, and by the time I’m spat into the living room, a sense of foreboding sinks its claws into me.
I glance up. It’s a mistake. The angles of the living room spin, warp, and collide at mismatched speeds. Groaning, I grab the back of the couch and wait for my body to adjust.
My stomach settles, then flips again when I realize I’m not alone.
Celine is standing in the corner, her red hair neatly braided.
My skin pebbles as she watches me. The sensation is both similar and different to the one in the forest. A contradiction, like the angel in front of me. She’s made of sharp, efficient lines stacked on smooth, generous curves.
I’ve memorized them all. And she’s driving me mad.
Why can’t I stop thinking about her? Or staring at her? Or imagining what’s happening in her head?
Nothing has made sense since we faced each other in the ring. It should have been a routine job. I was excited to be away from the monster realm, but I wasn’t supposed to find her refusal to conform so fascinating.
Celine bristled with passion. Blades, flames. Her fighting style was and is brutal, with a calculated edge of recklessness that’s nearly impossible to predict accurately.
Even wearing a dead man’s face, I ended up being the one surprised. Because I felt more alive when she hurt me than I had in years.
I thought it was the best job I’d ever taken. Now, I fear it will be my last.
“You look determined,” I say, pleased when my voice comes out steady.
Celine makes a low sound in her throat and shrugs. “I have to be, don’t I?”
My eyebrows lift. “Sure, but I meant it in a less abstract way.” Igesture to her posture, one step away from a fighting stance. “You look like you’ve been standing there for half an hour, gearing up for an interrogation.”
She glances at the empty archway leading to the rest of the house. “Can we talk in private?”
