"Unless what?"
She reached out toward the flower. Not to touch it, but close enough that frost began forming on her fingertips.
"The guardians were ice-aligned," she said. "Connected to the cold. To the Garden's winter aspect."
"And?"
"And I'm ice-aligned too." She looked at me. "What if the flower isn't poison to me? What if it's compatible?"
I grabbed her wrist, stopping her an inch from the petals.
"Or," I said carefully, "what if that's exactly what it wants you to think? What if it's counting on you making that connection and taking the bait?"
She hesitated. "You think it's a trap."
"I think everything here is a trap. The question is whether the trap is obvious or clever."
"So we leave both?"
I stared at the vial. At the promise of healed skin and functional arms and not feeling like someone had stuck my limbs in a deep fryer and forgotten about them.
My reflection in the nearest mirror smiled. Not my smile. Something meaner.
I turned away from the pedestal.
