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“Don’t.” He froze, his palm still hovering over her. He lay his hand on her spine again. She leaned toward him, her head sagging onto his shoulder. She did not look at him. He did not look at her. Neither of them dared disturb the moment with clumsy words. They remained this way until the fire devoured itself, two nightmares trapped in the amber of a daydream.
There, on the plane of skin over her heart, was the radiant handprint of a dreambreaker. This one did not belong to a child, nor did it blaze white. It was much larger and spilled golden light. “Bram,” Wren whispered.
“They’re more than they seem,” Saoirse replied. “Just like you. Isn’t that right, dreambreaker?”