The clearing lay high in the mountains—a flat expanse of stone surrounded by peaks that scraped at the belly of the sky. Zekar had chosen it for the isolation, for the lack of anything that could burn. Emery stood at the edge, wrapped in furs, her white hair pulled back from her face.
"You don't have to watch," he told her.
"I'm watching."
He did not argue. He had learned that argument with Emery was a pointless thing.
He stripped off his shirt and let the cold air bite at his skin. The scars on his back pulled tight with each movement—those twin lines where wings had once torn through. He turned away from her, faced the empty clearing, and closed his eyes.
The shift began.
