IRIS' P.O.V.
The frost hadn’t left my bones yet. Clara said it would fade with time, but she neglected to mention how much time. My fingers still tingled. My chest still pulsed like it held a second heartbeat. And the air around me? Too sharp. Too still. Like the world hadn’t decided whether to welcome me or burn me alive.
Blake leaned against the far wall, watching me like I might explode again and take the house with me. Clara stood over a stack of scrolls at the shelf, muttering to herself in Old Tongue.
“So,” I said, arms crossed, “are we going to keep playing magical guesswork or is someone going to tell me what exactly is inside me?”
Clara didn’t look up. “You already know what’s inside you.”
“Right,” I muttered. “The celestial spark. Divine moonblood. A cosmic temper tantrum wr
