“No, Papa!” The voice cut through the roar of the crowd; an oddly familiar voice, though Colin was sure he’d never heard it raised before. His fingers went instinctively to his ring. “Papa, you cannot!” His head whipped around. There it was, Goldsmith & Sons. And the girl, Amethyst. He jerked on the reins as her father shoved her stumbling into the street, flames thundering in the shop behind. A small trunk came out after her, then the man gestured wildly and ducked back inside. Colin saw him start up the stairs—stairs already engulfed in fire—before a blast of heat slammed the door shut.
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