Chapter 63
Elara’s POV
Sleep no longer comes to me easily. When it does, it brings blood.
I dream of fire—the kind that devours cities, the kind that hums beneath my skin even when I’m awake. Faces appear in the smoke: my mother’s, my cousin’s, the child’s. They all whisper the same thing.
You are not done.
I wake before dawn, shivering despite the embers still glowing in the campfire. Arin sleeps curled beside me, clutching a threadbare blanket that Lucien found. Her breathing is soft, rhythmic, almost peaceful. I envy her for it.
The dawn is gray. Wind howls across the valley, dragging the scent of charred wood from the ruins below. Every time I close my eyes, I see that lab—the tubes, the sigils, the pale faces. And beneath it all, Mireille’s voice echoes in my mind.
Perfection i
