ZORA

I glared at her and returned my gaze to the book.

The words were not written with ink, or maybe they were, I couldn’t tell, but there were faint engravings of silver around each letter.

They shimmered,

Like my powers, the threads.

"You're holding it wrong."

"Huh?" I frowned at her.

She glanced at the grimoire, then back at me, "You're holding it wrong," she repeated, irritation in her voice.

I shot her a look sharp, "It's a book, Grace. Not a bloody sword."

"Yet, you’re reading it like a child who stole sweets and doesn’t want to get caught."

"Better than you, who probably can’t even read this,"...