Writing to Vesper Voss felt like reaching my hand directly into a fire and hoping it would not burn me a second time.
I sat at my father's desk that evening, a blank sheet of parchment in front of me, Kade pacing slowly behind my chair while I tried three different openings and discarded each one for sounding either too desperate or too accusatory.
"Just tell her the truth," Kade finally said, resting his hands on my shoulders, his thumbs working slow circles that eased some of the tension knotted there. "She respects strength more than diplomacy.
Give her facts, not flattery."
I nodded and started again, this time writing plainly about the tremor, about Odessa's warning, about the Hollow waking in pieces scattered across old, forgotten ground. I did not apologize for refusing her earl
