"Abram."
Venna's fingers moved against mine, working, trying to pull me back. She could feel it happening—feel me going out further than I should have been going. The pressure of her grip tightened in small, urgent pulses.
"Abram."
It was like standing in one world while living in another. Time had stopped where my body was and kept running where my eyes were, and neither version of me could reach the other. The dark of the libra sat heavy around my skin while the grey light of Riya's house kept moving in front of me, independent, unreachable.
I stood in Riya's house and tried to follow the masked man down the stairs with nothing but my eyes, straining after a figure I couldn't chase. The broad set of his shoulders, the controlled drop of each step. He'd killed Venna's mother. I was almost certain of that. But that wasn't why I was pulling toward him.
He'd stopped when Riya said my name. That was why.
