Chapter 17 · Seven Minutes to Burn

The ring hasn't even settled on my finger before the heat starts.

"Say something's wrong," Kael says, low, barely moving his mouth. "Now."

"Nothing's wrong." My voice comes out steady. It's a lie and he knows it.

His hand is still wrapped around mine from the exchange, which is the only reason two hundred people staring at us can't see my fingers starting to glow. Under the skin, right where the ring sits, something wakes up like a coal nobody bothered to put out.

"Your hand is on fire," Kael says.

"I know."

"Then why are you smiling at the priest."

"Because if I stop smiling, he calls the guard. And if he calls the guard, you get to watch me die in front of everyone who already hates me."

A number burns into the inside of my wrist, right under the vow mark, red as a brand. Seven. Then it flickers, resets, counts down from something worse.

07:00.

Eighteen days. That's what the anchor gave me this morning. Eighteen days to break it clean. Now it's telling me seven minutes, and the number's already moving.

"Seraph." Kael's thumb presses hard into my knuckles, grinding the ring against bone.