Brushing aside my snarled hair, I split my finger on my spiky hoop, then adorn the skylight with the circle fitted through with a cross, which I’ve perfected thanks to it being a symmetrical design. My palm sinks through the glass. I try to morph into my shadows, but my shifter magic fails me, and I hurtle into the bedroom below with all the grace of a potato. Ugh, Lach. You could’ve warned me the palace was warded.
