AYLA'S POV
I woke up to the fire.
Not the kind that scorches flesh, but the kind that creeps from the inside, burning nerves, boiling thought. Every breath seared my lungs, every heartbeat pounded like a drum in a cavern too vast for me to fill.
I wasn't in the temple anymore. Not really.
The stone floor beneath me was ash, gray and endless. The air reeked of smoke, though no flame touched it. Shadows pooled at the edges of my sight, watching, waiting, their whispers weaving into each other until I couldn't tell where one ended and another began.
He cannot save you.
I clutched my head. "Stop."
The echoes only laughed. Louder it echoes in everyone's ears. I could feel the glitz and agony within me.
One voice pushed forward, clearer, closer, smooth as velvet and sharp as a knife.
You wear his love like armor, little flame. But what happens when armor rusts? When does he falls? Will you break then?
"No," I rasped, though my throat was raw. "No."
You are already breaking.
