The sun hadn't even fully cleared the horizon when I dragged myself toward the tent flap, every joint in my body screaming in protest. My skin felt tender, my muscles were like overstretched rubber bands, and the faint, lingering scent of sea-ozone on my wrist was a sharp reminder of the "enchantment" that had nearly upended my life a few hours ago.
I just wanted a moment of silence. I wanted to splash some cold—preferably non-magical—water on my face and pretend the world didn't have expectations of me.
But the world, as usual, was waiting. And wanna know who else was waiting. Talia.
Talia stood about ten feet from the tent; her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes narrowed into sharp, flinty slits. She looked like she hadn't slept a wink, her posture stiff with a bitterness that seemed to radiate off her like heat.
