Thea stood at the edge of the clearing, chest heaving, eyes straining against the shadows. Moonlight stretched across the glade, soft and silver, pooling like spilled milk over the dewy grass. Her hands were fists at her sides. She was trying—truly trying—but the power wouldn't come.
Not when she wanted it to.
Only when it wanted her.
Silas watched from several feet away, his arms crossed. "You're too tense."
Thea didn't respond. Her jaw clenched. The night was cool, but sweat beaded along her brow.
"Try breathing with it," he said again, softer now. "Feel, don't force."
"I am feeling," she bit back, her voice brittle. "That's the problem."
A gust of wind carried her words into the trees. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called out, lonely and low.
Silas stepped closer. "Then let
