He lay crumpled on his side, his face swollen, blood drying on his neck and jaw. One eye swollen shut.
I staggered to him and dropped to my knees.
“Aran.” My voice came out small. Croaked. “No, no. You don’t get to die on us. Wake up!”
I pressed my hands to his chest. My fingers trembled, and the moment they made contact, pain tore through me.
My skin. Red. Split. Pink and slick like peeled fruit. Light finally spilled from my palms, but it was dim. Flickering.
“Kera?”
Will’s was frantic. Barely able to from a cohesive sentence. “Oh shit. Is he—are you—oh gods. What was that?”
I didn’t look at him. I just kept pushing magic into Aran’s chest. The shaking in my arms getting worse.
“Your skin—your fucking hands—what the hel just happened?” Will’s voice was rising. “What do I do? Kera? What do I do? What do you need?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
Aran groaned.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, voice slurred. “Been through worse.”
He spit blood onto the ground.
He was wrecked.
So was I. My arms collapsed. The strength went out of me like a snapped thread, and I fell forward.
“KERA!”
Will’s arms caught me just before I hit the ground. He was shaking.
“No. No, no, no—please. Kera. Please stay with me.”
His voice broke completely. I could feel it. Hear it. I blinked at him, barely holding on.
I had killed a man.
Me.
I’d burned him alive. I was a murder.
“He... he deserved it, right?” I asked.
Will's eyes filled. “Yeah,” he said. “He did.”
It didn’t make it hurt any less. Aran groaned again behind us.
“Just remind me never to get on your bad side, Kera,” he mumbled. “Like, ever.”
I managed a breath of a laugh. Barely.
Will looked at me, eyes still wide.
“What was that, Kera? How did you do that?”
"It's... part of me," I whispered. "The fire. I can feel it inside me.”
