The glow on Rose's shoulder didn't fade; it throbbed like a second heart. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw scales as dark as the night and eyes like molten gold.
"Rose! The water is boiling!" her mother's voice snapped her back to reality.
Rose looked down at her hands. She wasn't holding the kettle, yet the water in the pot was swirling in a perfect circle, defying gravity. Fear, cold and sharp, washed over her. She wasn't a normal village girl. Normal girls didn't make water dance.
That evening, a stranger arrived in Aurora. He wore a cloak embroidered with silver thread—the mark of the Royal Guard from the Kingdom of Valentin. He held a parchment with a drawing of a girl. A girl with a star-shaped birthmark.
Rose watched from the shadows of the tavern. Her heart hammered against her ribs. They were looking for her. But were they coming to bring her home, or to finish what started thirteen years ago?
"Hide, little spark," a voice whispered in her mind. It wasn't a human voice. It was deep, ancient, and smelled of smoke. "The hunters are here."