“Your aura is fading,” he tells me. “You can’t see it, but I can. I need you to breathe and let go of your power.” Panic surges up in me. If I let go of my power, I’ll be weak again. Helpless. Fury sparks in my eyes, and the gold flexes behind me like fingers clenching into a fist. “No.” “You’re alright now. You don’t need it,” he vows, and despite the anxiety running through me, his voice is deep and soothing, calling to another part of me, a part buried beneath the anger.
