Cassian rose to his feet with the slow, hesitant gait of a man approaching a miracle he expected to vanish into mist at any moment.
The air in the guest wing was heavy, thick with the metallic tang of ozone and the lingering, purple residue of the Siphon’s power. It clung to the corners of the ceiling like the smoke of a dying storm, casting distorted, jagged shadows against the stone walls.
He reached out, his hand hovering in the empty space between them, his fingers twitching as if he were trying to catch a dream before the sun burned it away. He looked at her, really looked at her and the sight was a jagged blade to his throat. Elena was pale, her skin slick with a cold, silver sweat from the exertion of saving their daughter. Her hands, once soft and adorned with the rings of a Que
