“Dance with me,” she said again, her voice comically low, and I stifled a chuckle. “Was that supposed to be compulsion, Iliae?” “What, it didn’t work?” Maybe it had. I wondered whether Mische had figured out yet that I would never—could never—say no to her. It was the kind of powerlessness I’d been taught to fear my entire life. And yet I was so eager to run headfirst toward it. Even now. Especially now.
