Then, carefully, she swung her legs over the bed.
The cold tile floor greeted her bare feet as she pushed herself up. Her limbs trembled—weak, exhausted—but she forced herself to stand.
She was still in a hospital gown, but she didn’t feel cold. The fire in her was burning so hot, clouding everything else.
The witch was nearby. That was all that mattered.
Step by step, she moved toward the door, her senses reaching out.
The scent was stronger now.
She wasn’t imagining it.
Slipping into the dimly lit hallway, she took a deep breath, trying to pinpoint the source.
Then—she saw her.
A familiar figure standing near the far end of the corridor.
Angelica froze. “No. It can’t be.”
“Lyra??”
Long hair. A sharp but delicate face.
One of the last Earth Witches.
