Enrique thought he could feel everything … From the heat vibrating off Hypnos’s hand, which was just an inch too close, and the glow of Zofia’s candlelight hair as she bent her head to inspect her newest invention, to the sugar crystals from the cookie Laila had snuck him and the cold of Séverin’s fury as he stared at the clock. Enrique, who had always dreamed about what magic might feel like, thought he had found it then: myths and palimpsests, starlight sugaring the air, and the way hope feels painful when shared equally among friends.
