Omrum’s POV
Alone in the guest suite, I found myself pacing, the stone floors cold beneath my bare feet. The conversation with Calhoun still burned in my mind like an undiluted poison.
I moved toward the tall, ornate mirror that dominated the far wall. It was an antique piece, the silver backing tarnished with age, reflecting a version of myself I still struggled to recognize. My hair was a chaotic tangle of midnight rain, my skin unnaturally pale, and my eyes, even when I fought to keep them human carried the faint, shimmering nebula of the void.
I reached up to touch the base of my throat, a nervous habit I hadn't managed to break. My fingers brushed against the fabric of the linen shift the servant had provided, and I paused. A strange, prickling sensation, like a dozen tiny needles
