The first sign that Grace had reached the Origin was when her left wing stopped responding.
"What the—"
Her body dropped thirty feet before she managed to stabilize with just her right wing. The air felt so strange. Too thick in some places, nonexistent in others.
[Okay, this is definitely it.]
She hovered at the edge of what looked like a massive hurricane made of broken rainbows. The colors bent in ways that hurt her eyes. Some shades didn't even have names, at least not that Grace knew.
A hundred years of training. A hundred years of pushing her body beyond what angels were supposed to endure. All for this moment.
[Please don't let me die in the first five minutes. That would be SO embarrassing.]
Grace took a deep breath and plunged forward.
The wind hit her like Diana on a bad day. It yanked her sideways, twisting her wings at angles that would've snapped them a decade ago. But Grace had trained for this. Her body was firm now.
