The silver light pulsing from my skin wasn't just beautiful—it was a key turning a lock that had been sealed for sixteen years.
The memories hit me like a freight train.
Fire. So much fire.
I was seven years old again, hiding under my bed while the house burned around me. But this wasn't the version of that night I'd carried for nine years. This was different. Clearer. Real.
I could smell the smoke now—not just wood and fabric burning, but something else. Something metallic and sharp that made my nose wrinkle. Silver. Melted silver.
"Scarlett!" Alexander's voice seemed to come from very far away. "What's happening?"
I tried to answer, but I was trapped in the past. The silver light streaming from my hands grew brighter, and with it, the memories became more vivid.
A man burst through my bedroom door. Tall, broad-shouldered, with silver-white hair that caught the firelight. His eyes—God, his eyes were the same molten gold that had stared back at me from the bathroom mirror.
