ELARA'S POV
The scream tears from my throat before I'm fully awake.
My hands are on fire.
I thrash against silk sheets—silk, not my rough cotton ones—trying to shake off the flames. But there are no flames. Just my hands, normal and pale in the morning light. My heart pounds so hard it hurts.
Where am I?
The room spins as I sit up too fast. My head feels like someone hit it with a hammer. I'm wearing a white nightgown that definitely isn't mine. It's too fancy, too clean, and it smells like lavender instead of the woodsmoke that always clings to my clothes back home.
Home.
Something about that word makes my stomach twist, but I don't know why.
I look down at my arms and freeze.
Burn scars. Angry red marks snake from my wrists to my elbows like someone painted them there with fire. But I didn't have these yesterday. I'm sure I didn't. I would remember getting burned this badly.
Wouldn't I?
I press my fingers against the scars. They're real. They hurt.
"What happened to me?" I whisper to the empty room.
That's when I notice the necklace. A silver chain around my neck holds a pendant shaped like a bird with wings spread wide. It's beautiful and delicate, catching the sunlight. I've never seen it before in my life.
My hand closes around it. The metal is warm, almost hot, like it's been sitting in the sun for hours.
None of this makes sense.
I try to remember last night. I was... where was I? The tavern. Yes, I was at the Silver Cup tavern in Cindergrace, drowning my sorrows in apple cider because I'd had another nightmare and couldn't sleep. I was sitting alone in a corner booth, feeling sorry for myself.
And then...
Nothing. My memory just stops like someone cut it with scissors.
Panic rises in my chest. I throw off the covers and swing my legs out of bed. My feet hit a soft carpet. I need to get out of here. I need to go home and figure out what's happening.
The door opens.
I jump, ready to run or fight or scream again.
A man steps inside carrying a wooden tray with food. He's tall and handsome in a way that makes my breath catch—sharp jaw, dark hair, and eyes the color of storm clouds. He's dressed in expensive clothes, the kind only nobles wear.
"You're awake," he says. His voice is gentle, but there's something careful about it, like he's talking to a wild animal that might bolt. "I was worried you'd sleep all day."
"Who are you?" My voice comes out shaky. "Where am I? What did you do to me?"
He sets the tray on a side table and holds up both hands. "I'm Vincent Ashwood. You're in my home. And I promise, I didn't do anything to you except bring you somewhere safe."
"Safe from what?"
Something flickers across his face—pain, maybe, or guilt. "Please, sit down. You should eat something. Then I'll explain everything."
"I don't want food!" I'm shouting now, fear turning into anger. "I want to know what's happening! Why can't I remember anything? Why do I have these burns?"
Vincent's gray eyes meet mine, and I see real sadness there. It scares me more than anger would.
"Miss Crane," he says quietly. "I have terrible news."
My legs feel weak suddenly. I sit back down on the bed without meaning to.
"Your village," Vincent continues, each word careful and slow. "Cindergrace. Last night, there was a fire."
The room tilts sideways.
"A fire?" I repeat stupidly.
"A massive one. It burned... everything." He pauses, and I can see him struggling with what to say next. "I'm so sorry. There were no other survivors. Everyone is gone."
The words don't make sense. They're just sounds.
"That's not funny," I say. My voice sounds far away, like someone else is talking. "That's a sick joke."
"I wish it were." Vincent moves closer but stops when I flinch. "I found you at dawn, walking near the ruins. You were in shock, covered in ash and burns. I brought you here to help you."
No. No, no, no.
My parents. My neighbors. Old Mrs. Chen who always gave me honey candies. Little Tommy from next door who wanted to be a knight when he grew up.
All gone?
"You're lying," I whisper, but even as I say it, I know he's not. Something deep inside me knows it's true. That's why I woke up screaming. That's why I can't remember.
My mind is trying to protect me from something horrible.
"I need to see," I hear myself say. "Take me there. I need to see Cindergrace."
"Miss Crane, I don't think—"
"NOW!" The word explodes out of me, and so does something else.
Heat.
The air around me shimmers. The pendant against my chest burns hot. Vincent stumbles backward, his eyes wide with shock.
"You have magic," he breathes.
I look down at my hands. Small sparks dance across my fingertips, orange and bright like tiny stars. They don't hurt me, but they should. Fire should burn.
"What's happening to me?" Tears stream down my face. "I don't have magic. I've never had magic."
"You do now." Vincent's voice is strange—a mix of fear and something else. Recognition? "Powerful magic."
The sparks die away as quickly as they appeared. I'm shaking all over, cold despite the heat I just created.
"Please," I beg. "Please take me to my village. I need to see it with my own eyes. I need to find my parents."
Vincent stares at me for a long moment. Then he nods slowly.
"Tomorrow morning," he says. "I'll take you tomorrow. But tonight, you need to rest. You've been through trauma. Your body needs time to heal."
I want to argue, but exhaustion crashes over me like a wave. My eyes feel heavy. My whole body aches.
"I don't understand any of this," I whisper.
"I know." Vincent moves toward the door. "Try to sleep. I'll answer all your questions tomorrow. I promise."
He leaves, closing the door softly behind him.
I lie back down on the fancy bed in my borrowed nightgown, wearing a necklace I don't recognize, marked with burns I don't remember getting. Outside, the sun shines on a world where everyone I love is dead.
But I can't cry anymore. I'm too empty.
Sleep pulls at me, heavy and dark. As I drift off, I hear voices in the hallway outside my room. Vincent's voice, talking to someone else.
"...found her just in time," he's saying. "If I'd been an hour later..."
Another voice, harder to hear: "Does she remember anything?"
"No. The memory block is still holding."
"Good. Keep it that way. If she remembers what really happened—"
"I know. She can never know I was there. She can never know what I did."
My eyes snap open.
What does that mean? What did Vincent do?
I hold perfectly still, pretending to sleep, straining to hear more. But the voices fade away down the hall.
My heart races as the truth crashes over me like ice water:
Vincent isn't just some kind stranger who saved me.
He knows something about the fire. Something he's not telling me.
And somehow, I'm connected to all of this in ways I don't understand yet.
The burn scars on my arms throb like they're trying to tell me something. The pendant feels heavier around my neck, hot as a warning.
I'm not safe here.
And tomorrow, when Vincent takes me to see the ruins of my home, I'm going to find out exactly what he's hiding—and what really happened the night my entire world burned down.
Even if the truth destroys me.