Page 49 of Molt

“Physically?”

“At first.”

“And then?”

I don’t answer.

“August.”

“Memories.”

She goes still. “Yours?”

“Yes.”

“Personality?”

“Some.”

“Do I become you?”

“No.”

“Then what do I become?”

I wish I knew. “More.”

Her eyebrows draw together. “That’s vague as fuck.”

“It’s the only answer I have.”

I turn her hand over.

The cut is almost gone. My thumb accidentally brushes the center of her palm.

She inhales.

I freeze as heat crawls up my arm. Not a memory. Not pain. Something older than either. Recognition.

Her fingers curl slightly around mine. “August.”

Fuck.

I should release her. Instead, my thumb moves again slowly across her palm.

Her eyes lift to mine.

Shit.

There are moments when a person knows they’re about to make a mistake.

This is one of them.

The body becomes a traitor first.

Breathing changes. Heart rate accelerates. Pupils dilate. Every rational thought begins backing toward the exit while something ancient takes control. I’ve known Lenora’s body in eight forms. None of them looked exactly like this. And somehow every one of them felt the same when she stood this close.

“Tell me to stop,” she whispers.