Sarafina POV
I should have been thinking about war.
About factions.
About the voice.
About the very real possibility that someone, somewhere, had decided I was now officially a problem.
Instead, I was thinking about Alistair's stupid promise.
I'm not leaving. Simple words. Too simple.
Yet dangerous.
I walked the eastern corridor alone, hands tucked into the sleeves of my sweater, trying to convince myself that my chest did not feel warmer than usual.
It wasn't dramatic, nor was it butterflies. It was steadier than that.
Like something had locked into place.
Which was ridiculous.
I barely understood this world.
I definitely didn't understand him.
And I absolutely did not need whatever this was complicating things.
"Get a grip," I muttered to myself.
The static was quiet this afternoon than it was earlier..
Low. Contained. Almost peaceful. If that was even the right world.
That should have worried me.
I turned the corner toward the lower stairwell when it hit.
