[Ann's POV]
Gale's question—"Have you ever heard of the Thaumamorphs?"—didn't just hang in the air; it drilled into my skull, each syllable landing like a hammer on an anvil.
Thaumamorphs.
The word was alien. A cluster of harsh syllables that meant nothing to my conscious mind. And yet my body knew.
My hands, which had just steadied, began to tremble again—a fine, uncontrollable vibration that started in my fingertips and raced up my arms. A deep, rolling nausea twisted in my gut. The rich, savory meal we'd just shared—the bear paw, the broth, the noodles, the pudding—suddenly felt like a leaden, foreign mass. It lurched, threatening to rise. The taste of bile coated the back of my tongue.
I pushed myself to my feet. The motion was unsteady. The world tilted slightly.
