The bronze coin was cold in Clek's hand.
He stood in the garden, the morning sun warm on his face, the sounds of the city slowly returning to life around him. But the warmth didn't reach him. The cold had seeped into his bones, a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.
The battle was over. The Shadowed were destroyed. The gathering was broken. But the victory felt hollow, like a wound that had healed over but still ached beneath the surface.
Aria's presence flickered in his mind, soft and concerned. "Clek. You've been standing here for hours. What's wrong?"
"The coin," he said, his voice flat. "It's cold. It's never been cold before."
"What does that mean?"
Clek was silent for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the coin. Then he spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "I don't know.
