(Jaxon's POV)
The palace had turned into a place where trust tasted like broken glass. Every time I turned a corner I half-expected to see Nalia's face smiling at me—only to feel the bond stutter and know it was the thing again, wearing his skin like a second set of clothes. Four days since it tried to steal me in the armory. Four days of sleeping in piles with the others, hands always touching, sigils always glowing, because if we let go for even a second the Wraith might slip through the cracks. I hated how much I needed the constant contact. I hated how much I still wondered if they'd keep choosing me when the novelty wore off.
