The chamber was as hot as the belly of a forge, but it wasn’t the heat that took my breath away—it was the enormity of what had just occurred. For a brief moment, I’d allowed the fire to consume me. I could still sense the reverberations of its claws in my chest, as if it were just biding its time, waiting for me to stumble again.
Wren’s hand was on my shoulder, grounding me. “You came back,” he whispered, like saying it too loud would shatter the delicate tether I’d struggled to maintain.
“I never came back,” I said hoarsely. “I pulled it back.” I didn’t know who I was trying to convince—him or myself.
Across the chamber, Arabella stood with her hands clasped behind her back, unscathed by the blaze surrounding her. Her fire danced with a kind of reverence, bowing to her will. And yet…
