CIAN
Her hand found mine before I could pull it back or rethink what I had asked of her. She turned my palm upward like it was the most natural thing in the world and held it between both of hers. I watched her close her eyes, not in hesitation but in focus, like she was reaching inward and lining something up properly before she let it loose.
When she opened them again, there was a thin thread of light sliding between her fingers. Pale silver. Fine as wire. The kind of magic she used when she was being careful.
It sliced across my palm in one clean line.
I did not flinch. The sting was sharp but brief, honest pain, nothing dramatic. I had expected worse. A thin red line welled up immediately and she held my hand steady, her grip firm but gentle, like she was trying not to waste what she had just drawn out of me.
Then she brought that same thread of light to her own palm.
She went slower.
