Isadora was already two weeks into her training in New York, though nearly three months had passed in Veridion. She had grown faster than Adele expected, adapting to every lesson with a sharpness that reminded the older woman of her early days.
At first, the lessons had been about control. How to center the mind, to hold an image steady long enough to bend energy toward it. Now, Isadora could weave threads of magic in the air with her fingertips. She no longer struggled to keep an object afloat; she could hold a cup, a book, even a chair in the air without trembling. The hard part had shifted from doing it to controlling when to stop.
