The cold was sharper than before. It settled into my bones like a second skin, wrapping around every bruise, every burn, every wound that hadn’t yet stopped bleeding. I lay on the stone slab, barely able to breathe, eyes focused on the sliver of metal the witch had slipped me.

I waited, counting seconds by the beat of my heart, which still pulsed weak, but mine. The magic circle had faded. Whatever Acwulf had done to drain me wasn’t complete. I was still here. I was still ...