Her blood had been everywhere. Dead. She was dead, and that was why Piper had marked her skin in her honor. Why she’d inked the memory of my sister there on her pale skin. I had to clench the pillows to anchor myself, to keep from launching across the room and ripping Piper from her mat, from throttling her and demanding she tell me the story. Every bloody detail of what happened to my sister. Every mistake she made that led to the carnage in that clearing. Years of relentless training, the same training I’d sought out after finding her cloak, after needing something, anything, to erase the
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