She thought of Pol, laughing on the comm. Of her brother’s outstretched hand. Of the Heart that was never a prize, but a prison.
And at its center, if you listened very closely, you could hear a single voice—not singing, not screaming, just counting . kaysplanet
Pol cackled. “Desperate doesn’t cut it in the Graveyard, girl. The ice here listens. And it remembers.” She thought of Pol, laughing on the comm
Before she could parse the words, the ice beneath her feet groaned. She thought of Pol