Ember Frost’s POV

It was a plain mug of tea. The ceramic was almost too hot to hold, steam curling up from the surface as if it had just been poured moments ago.

That was what made it unsettling; I knew for certain the tea had been sitting there for at least nine hours.

But that wasn’t possible.

I watched closely. The steam rose, thinned out, and vanished. Before the last trace could fade, another plume appeared. Then another. Again and again. Three times. Four.

That was when ...