I looked down at my fingers.

The leather at the base of my palm had grown underway to glaze again, a delicate coating of frost threading its way outward like delicate veins of snow.

I curled them into fists, forcing the heat to rise from someplace deeper, someplace lower. With a breath in, I made a mental order. Spark.

A thin trail of warmness bloomed through my wrist and spread like honey under my skin. The cold receded, sluggish and unwilling but sure. My gloves hissed faintly, ice ...