It happened without warning, three days after witnessing the world's rebirth. Selena woke to find her hands translucent.
Not glowing with flames, not wreathed in the eternal fire that had become part of her essence. Translucent—as if she was becoming less solid, less present, slowly fading from physical existence. She could see through her palms to the ground beneath them, could watch her pulse in veins that were becoming visible not because they were prominent, but because the flesh around them was disappearing.
"Dante," she said, her voice carrying a tremor she couldn't suppress. "Something's wrong."
He woke immediately, his storm crackling defensively before he'd even fully processed the situation. Then he saw her hands, saw how the morning light passed through them, saw how she was becoming something less than corporeal, and his expression shifted to horror.
