The wind on the surface tasted different.
Not of dust and old blood, but of rain and growing things. Aria stood at the edge of the collapse, letting it pull the grit from her hair, from her lungs. For ten years she’d dreamed of this moment and told herself she wouldn’t feel anything when it came.
She’d been wrong.
Her hands shook. Not from weakness. From the sheer, stupid relief of it being over.
“You’re staring again,” Kieran said, nudging her with his shoulder. “It’s just sky, Aria. It hasn’t done anything for you yet.”
“It hasn’t tried to kill me,” she said. “That’s new.”
Darian’s arm stayed around her shoulders, solid and warm. He hadn’t let go since they climbed out. Like if he did, the ruins would reach up and drag her back down. She didn’t tell him to stop.
The bond be
