"It's starting."Kaelor didn't look up from the whetstone. The rasp of metal against stone was the only thing keeping the silence from swallowing the room. He ran the iron blade one last time, the edge catching the dying light.Aradaa stood by the window of the safehouse. He gripped the sill until the wood splintered under his nails. Outside, the sky was bruising. A deep, sickly violet bled from the edges of the sun, creeping inward like rot on a piece of fruit. The birds had stopped singing. The wind had a metallic tang, cold and heavy."My skin—Kaelor, look." Aradaa shoved his sleeve up.His veins weren't blue anymore. They were bright, molten silver, pulsing in time with the slow crawl of the moon across the sun. The glow was bright enough to cast shadows against the peeling wallpaper."She’s pulling," Kaelor said. He dropped the whetstone. He walked over, his heavy boots thumping on the floorboards. He grabbed Aradaa’s wrist. Hard. "Don't fight it yet. If you fight it now, you'll
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