FENRIC'S POV

I smell the scent of ash in the room suddenly turn sweet, and I know instantly that something's gone wrong.

Iryn is sitting where we left her, with her robe still wrapped around her body, her hair loose, and her cheeks now flushed with a right red color that makes my brain completely useless for thoughts.

Her pupils are blown wide, the mark at her throat------- Nyall’s careful little shelter made of ash------- has gone from soft gray colour to a near- black colour.

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