"…and I was out of miracles."
The words left a bitter taste in my mouth even as they echoed silently in my skull.
The cell felt smaller suddenly—too close, too tight, the damp walls pressing inward.
The lantern sputtered once as if mocking me.
Yuri's chest rose and fell in shallow intervals.
The sweat cooling on her skin made her look feverish, but her expression—what little of it remained after unconsciousness reclaimed her—still carried that faint trace of defiance.
Even asleep, Saint Joan insisted on glaring at the world.
My palms dragged slowly over my face, fingers curling into my hair for a moment before I forced them down.
My breath fogged faintly in the cold air.
Think.
I looked at my hand—the same hand that only moments ago held all my hope in its glow.
White Nova had been the only purification technique that i possessed.
And it had done nothing.
