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War Storm Victoria Aveyard 23020K 2023-09-01

Cal finishes with Davidson, pulling back fro back with us, not yet Now that his governanize, and he pledges to follow us back to the Rift in a week or so But I don’t think that’s what they’re talking about Cal is too fervent, too on edge, his grip on Davidson tight and unyielding His eyes are soft, though He’s asking for so small and unimportant to anyone but hi, quick strides Her brothers watch hi in the prince’s wake If they were Calore burners, I think they ht set him on fire The sister is less hostile, butform, lip between her teeth She looks more like Mare when she does that, especially when her frown deepens into a sneer

Cal stops athis arms over a plain black uniform

"You need a better mask, Calore," I mutter to him He only scowls "And she needs to keep to our schedule"

"She’s leaving her farowls in reply "We can spare the h and examine my nails No claws today No need for them on the journey back home "So many allowances where Barrow is concerned I wonder where that line is, and what happens when she inevitably crosses it"

Instead of snarling back, as I expect, he chuckles low in his throat "Try to spread youryou have left"

Gritting my teeth, I clench a fist And I wish I’d donned my claws

"Don’t pretend I’m the only one miserable here," I snap

That cows hiray

With a last embrace, Mare finally finishes all her hysterical nonsense She turns tightly, shoulders squared away from her brood Their faces vary, but they all have a likeness Siolden-toned skin Dark brown hair but for the sister and the graying parents There’s a cohness to them, born in their blood As if they were shaped from earth and ere shaped froged along on an invisible leash He looks over his shoulder to wave back at the family, but Mare doesn’t I respect that instinct, at least Her dogged and so forward at all costs

Cal looks up as she passes, sto her arainst the sleeve of her rust-colored jacket But she doesn’t stop and he doesn’t stop her He only stares at her disappearing for with the words he can’t find it in himself to say

Part of me wants to prod him after her with a sharp knife The rest wants to cut out that heart of his, since he insists on ignoring it and subjecting rowl, offering hi against one another in invitation

Cal eyes rin Dutiful to the last, he slips his ar his hand belorist His skin blazes with heat, alht the urge to shiver in disgust "Of course, my future wife"

How I used to want this, I don’t know