rippling through his body and coalescing in his palm before draining away—straight into Anaar. Davian pulled his hand back sharply, fingertips tingling. Anaar gave him a confused look, then shook his head as if to clear it. The smuggler turned away, and Davian released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Whatever had just happened—if something had just happened, and it hadn’t been Davian’s imagination—Anaar was unaware of it.
