15
Kiria
Kiria wrung the moisture from her hair with a towel. Hanging her head sideways, she squeezed until her fingers felt damp. A few candles had been lit around her room, but it was still dark since the setting sun no longer shone through the multi-paned windows. She could barely see her own reflection in the glass. But she didn’t care.
She hadn’t heard from Firian all day. She had checked the Unreal compulsively, but he was never there. She knew he was on the island, that this was the day he was planning to storm the Torithians’ compound. What if he rushed in on his own? It wouldn’t surprise her. Firian always wanted to seem the hero. But, if he could manage this—if he could end the war—he really would be.
When would she hear from him?
She realized that she was gripping the towel
