“I don’t want to talk about it,” I push back, already exhausted by everything swirling in my head.
“And you think I want to talk about my stuff?” Viola counters. “How about this…we go one for one. You tell me something, I tell you something. That way, we can take breaks between my tragic family trauma and your… extremely intriguing love triangle.”
“Deal,” I sigh. “But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”
Moving to the herb cabinet, I pull down the glass bottle Viola helped me craft during one of our training sessions. Inside is a mixture of crushed berries, heated honey, and magically enhanced herbs, all of which have been steeped and fermented for a month. Even through the glass, the rich, earthy sweetness hums with quiet power.
Viola gasps dramatically. “Is that—”
Joining her
