With a violent jerk, I use the tip of the dagger to pry the small, dark object from my skin. A thin, curved bit of metal rips free, leaving a jagged wound where the scar had once been, and something inside me breaks open—a painful shattering followed by a feeling of relief that almost brings me to my knees. I don’t have time to examine the strange sense of lightness I feel, but I look at the object dangling from the tip of my knife, and I know the Dark Ones didn’t lie. The bloody metal glints in the afternoon light. It’s a tiny rune my mother used to mute my power in the human world. Because
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