The safehouse felt like a stone box jammed into the cliffs—small and damp, with the smell of salt, old dust, and that sharp tang that always meant Elara’s power was fading. She’d been holed up here for three days, drifting through her own body like a ghost, still reeling from the “First Taste” back at the ruins. Kael wasn’t about to let her disappear, though. He knew the Council’s retrievers and Damon, furious and licking his wounds, were closing in. And if Elara fell apart now, she was as good as dead.
“Again,” Kael said, his voice rough and unyielding, slicing through the heavy air.
Elara stood in the middle of a chalk circle, legs shaking. Sweat plastered her hair to her neck. “I can’t, Kael. It’s like trying to grab liquid fire. Every time I reach for it, it slips away or… or it trie
