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TWENTY-ONE | EMBERS
Lily
Buttery sunlight fell in soft waves to the forest floor. Lily wanted to close her eyes, to revel in the feel of eternal dawn upon her skin. She did not need to look to know exactly where she was going.
He called to her. It swelled deep in her chest, her scarred heart pounding against her ribcage. The sickness at the similarity of this to feeling dulled, until it was little more than an ache in her temples. This was not Atticus. That pain – the pain he had caused – was merely temporary. Her true path lay ahead.
Four white trees stood in a perfect diamond. Lily stilled, cocking her head to one side. A man was resting against one, his sword tossed on the ground beside him. She could smell fresh basil and citrus, undercut with something smoky; a bonfire breathing darkness into the dawn. She feared her growing heart might crush her lungs.
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