Only a handful of Leesa’s words peppers the page, scrawled in an even messier script than usual. The words themselves send my pulse climbing. The first line reads, What’s wrong with the dragons? The following one says, Sickness? Sabotage? Eyril overdose? Below that, she wrote my name and underlined it twice, followed by File? Fire? My heart stutters as I read the next line. The date our father died precedes the words, Research Tirenese account of attack. Down the page, she writes, Prophecy? After that, only a single line remains. One that cramps my stomach. Keep Lark away from Flighthaven.
