I nod, tapping my chest. “Here.”
He seems to consider something. “When you reach for your magick, you always look like you’re searching for something that should be second nature. You’re thinking about what fire shouldlooklike instead of what itfeelslike.”
“I don’t—” Shit. He’s right. I’m chasing what I think it should be instead of going with instinct.
Flint moves until he’s standing beside me, his presence a steady heat at my shoulder. “Try again. Don’t think about lighting a fire. Think about what you feel right now.”
“I feel humiliated.”
“Then you’ll probably start a fire.”
I laugh despite myself, tension loosening in my shoulders.
“Close your eyes and stop fighting yourself.”
I close my eyes and breathe deeply.
The air around us is heavy with summer. I can smell Flint. I’m trying to clear my mind, but him being there is tugging my awareness back to him.
Then, I feel it. Something stirring. My breath hitches as I try to focus on it.
“What is it?”
“There’s… there’s something there.”
I feel him still next to me. “Where does it start?”
“My chest.”
“Follow it. What’s under it?”
I reach inward. There’s a tightness there, coiled under my ribs. Fear, yes, but something gentler too. It pulses when I think of him standing beside me, the way he never flinches from my uncertainty.
“Warm. It’s warm.”
“Hold that.”
It grows when I focus on it. The warmth spreads through me like water, filling the hollow places. My palms tingle. The air shifts, tasting faintly of ozone and something sweet.
“Flint.” I murmur.
“Right here.”
The warmth builds until it’s almost unbearable. My heart stumbles, catches, and then?—
Light.
It spills from my skin, like the feeling made visible. Gold at first, then pale rose, threads of luminescence dancing between my fingers. The clearing fills with agentle hum of energy, a vibration that feels like it’s coming from inside my bones.
I gasp, half in awe, half in terror. “Flint— it’s—I?—”
“I see it.” His voice is rough, low. “You’re glowing.”
The light brightens as he speaks, like ithearshim. My hair lifts in the faint current, every strand catching the radiance.
“What is this?” I whisper.
“It’s your magick, love.” He pauses. “Your power.”
