Lucia
Ragnar’s voice was a raw, ragged whisper, the words stumbling over his disbelief as he stared at the peaceful, terrible death he could not comprehend.
“Lucia… what did you… what are you?”
The question hung in the air, heavy and impossible.
Lucia stayed on her knees in the cold mud, her gaze fixed on her own trembling hands.
They looked alien to her, the instruments of a power she hadn’t asked for and a death she hadn’t intended.
The healer who had spent a lifetime mending was now a killer. The truth of it was a ringing, hollow void inside her.
She couldn’t answer him. She didn’t have the words.
Ragnar didn’t wait for them.
His frantic, wild-eyed expression, the look of a hunter who had found his quarry in a state he couldn’t understand, shifted. Lucia’s gaze followed him
