Stella
"Have a seat, and put your fingers in the bowl," he said, pulling out the only chair.
A dozen questions began to surface, but I bit my tongue and crossed the room.
The bowl was colder than I expected.
Not painfully so—but enough that when I lowered my hand into the water, my breath caught despite myself. The surface broke around my fingers. The water was clear, still, unassuming. Too ordinary for something that had already begun to make my pulse quicken.
"Don't pull away," he said calmly.
"I'm not," I replied, through clenched teeth.
"You are," he countered. "Just not with your hand."
I forced myself to relax my shoulders. The muscles there had gone tight without my noticing, like they always did when I braced for something unseen. The room smelled faintly of salt and smok
