But the priests’ chanting, their droning—none of it was fixing her. None of it would ever fix her. The only person capable of that was Elías, who had looked at her and said we fight dirty. Elías, who sang her out of the dark. With whom she had shared one enchanted dance that sealed their fates, molten metal pouring gleaming into their ribs and setting around their hearts. He was the one thing she had ever chosen for herself.
