Amelia P.O.V.
By the third morning of “light movement,” I’m ready to chew through the healer wing walls.
Rayven has allowed me to pace the hallway. Walk the courtyard. Sort tinctures—though not the ones labeled with a skull, flame, or three exclamation marks. But training? Actual training?
Absolutely not.
Until Solas steps into the healer wing after breakfast and says simply, “Get dressed, Amelia. We’re going outside.”
My spine straightens. “For what?”
“Thane wants to observe,” he says. “Rayven wants to test your limits. And I want to see you on your feet where you belong. No battles. Just a circle.”
A training circle.
Shea surges forward, ears perked. Finally.
Rayven appears behind Solas with her arms crossed like she’s personally discouraging the universe from messing with her m
