The Ashen Veil
My hand lifts slowly.
Pauses.
Then presses lightly against his chest.
The moment contact happens—
Everything changes.
The bond surges.
Immediate.
Powerful.
Alive.
Rowan inhales sharply.
His eyes flash.
Not pain.
Something else.
Recognition.
Relief.
My magic moves instinctively, not outward, not visible, but inward—threading through the connection, pushing gently against the silver, not removing it, never fully removing it, but forcing it to slow, to dull, to forget how to burn quite so intensely.
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