/-Zara-/

The clock on my bedside table was marking the seconds with increased loudness.

Eleven forty-five.

I pressed my palm against my chest, feeling the strange warmth emanating from the symbol on my skin. Even through the softness of my nightgown, I knew it was pulsating—alive and hungry.

What am I doing?

The question reverberated in my brain for what was possibly the hundredth time tonight. Breaking into Elder Moira's quarters was outright lunacy. Suicidal, even. If I was caught, ...