Kael
Nyxara doesn't just bend rules, she shatters them and calls the pieces art.
By dawn, the entire castle hums with her interference. The air tastes of burnt magic, sweet and sour, like a fruit left too long in the sun. I can feel her in the walls, the mirrors, even the dust. She's everywhere she shouldn't be.
I pace the courtyard, every step scraping against the restraint I've forced around my temper. The last of the mist burns off the stones, but the wrongness lingers.
She's playing outside the Games. Again.
"Do you ever stop meddling?" I mutter into the morning air.
"Do you ever stop whining?" Her voice pours into my mind, smooth as oil, thick with amusement. "You were always so dramatic, Kael."
"You let her keep the rabbit. You pulled her into the mirrors. That
