TYR

“Tyr.”

The voice was soft and familiar. It slid into the edges of my sleep like a thread of warmth pulling me from the dark.

I blinked. The light from the window poured into the room in golden lines. When my vision cleared, she was there, sitting beside the bed, smiling down at me with that calm, maddening grace that made my heart stutter.

“Zuri?” My voice came out rough, half disbelief, half prayer.

She chuckled and leaned closer until her scent—wild jasmine and something ...