He lifted his hand, the motion slow and hesitant with thought, and gently grasped the necklace’s charm. Turned it over. Studied it. His fingers brushed the hollow of my throat, leaving a tingling trail of heat in their wake. “You wouldn’t have died,” he finally said, letting go of the necklace and turning away again. He said it with such conviction that I couldn’t help but ask, “How can you be sure?” “Because.” “Because why?” He scratched Moth’s chin, causing the griffin to purr and rustle his wings. “Because I know a wildfire when I see one. And I don’t think those villagers would have been
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