Chapter 76. Splinter

The first time Aria blacked out, she was alone in the greenhouse.

She had gone there to breathe—a place Cassandra said still held the “old air,” untouched by magic. Ivy coiled across the glass ceiling, and the scent of moss, mint, and damp stone calmed her. It always had.

She remembered unlocking the side door. Sitting on the low stone bench. Touching the frost-crusted leaves.

Then—nothing.

She came to crouched in the dirt, breath ragged, hands shaking. Her knuckles were scraped raw. Her fingernails cracked. Around her, plants were torn from their beds. Shattered pots. A rake embedded in the far wall.

She had no memory of it.

Just the metallic taste of power on her tongue. And the echo of a voice, purring inside her skull:

“You shouldn’t have fought me.”

***

By the time she stumbled back into the main hall, her sleeves were streaked with soil and blood. The moment Cassandra saw her, she stood up so fast her chair scraped against