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“What did he mean?”

“He sees something in you.” Sacha’s gaze remains on the placewhere the old man disappeared. “The older generation are more attuned to such things. They had contact with those who possessed natural abilities before the purges. They are the ones who remember.”

“He thinks I have these abilities?”

“He saw something that resonates with his memories.” His voice is even, but there’s a tension beneath it. “You have to understand that many will seek to find meaning in your presence. It’s human nature to search for patterns, especially when the world has broken down around them.”

“Like the prophecies you mentioned.”

“Like those, yes.” His attention shifts to something beyond my shoulder. “Lisandra is signaling. There are people she wishes me to speak with.”

“I’ll be fine here. Go … do your leader thing.”

His lips quirk faintly at my wording, but he doesn’t move right away. “Stay within sight. If you need me?—”

“I know. I’ll signal.” I make a shooing motion with my hands. “Seriously, go. I can manage to stand at a party by myself. Believe me, I’ve been to more rowdy ones than this and survived.”

He hesitates for a second longer, then inclines his head and moves away. He’s immediately engulfed by people eager for his attention. I watch him as he moves. The way the crowd parts for him without him needing to ask, the way people listen when he speaks.

Left alone, I step closer to the wall, and take the opportunity to watch the celebration. Despite the circumstances, there’s a genuine joy in how these people interact with each other. Theylaugh, they dance, they share drinks and conversations with the easy companionship of those who have faced untold hardships together.

It reminds me, unexpectedly, of Christmas parties back home. Not the decorations or traditions, but the feeling—the suspension of everyday worries, the chance to breathe, to remember you’re alive when everything else wants you to despair. The comparison brings a sudden, sharp pang of homesickness.

Chicago feels impossibly far away. Not just in distance, but in possibility.

Will I ever see it again?

“Vashna tem,” a voice interrupts my thoughts. I blink and refocus to find a young man offering a cup of something that gleams amber in the light. “Kavir naresh?”

Would I like a drink? I recognize enough to understand his question.

“Narem.” I accept the cup with a smile.

He bows slightly before moving away, duty fulfilled. I sip cautiously, expecting something bracing or bitter. Instead, the drink is surprisingly pleasant. It’s sweeter than I expected it to be, with hints of something similar to cinnamon.

Warmth spreads through my chest, chasing away the chill that homesickness left behind.

I catch Sacha watching me from across the room, his attention fixed on me despite the circle of people demanding his focus. When our gazes meet, he doesn’t look away or pretend he wasn’t watching. Instead, he holds the connection with an intensity that seems to collapse the distance between us, the noise of the celebration falling away until there’s only him, and me.

Then something shifts in the air around me. A subtle change in pressure that makes my ears pop and the lightstones above my head flicker. The cup in my hand warms, the liquid inside beginning to bubble without any external heat source.

My eyes widen in horror as I realize what’s happening—my power responding not to danger but emotion. Tohim. I set it down hastily on a nearby table, heart hammering against my ribs.

Not again. Not here. Not now. Not surrounded by all these people who already stare at me with undisguised curiosity.

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting to steady my breathing, and try to suppress whatever this power is that keeps manifesting without my consent.

A hand touches my arm, and my eyes snap open to find Sacha beside me.

“Is everything all right?”

“The cup.” I struggle to keep my voice steady. “It started heating up. I think … I think it was me.”

His eyes flick to the abandoned drink, then back to me. “I felt the change in energy across the room. You’re becoming more attuned to it. More sensitive.”

“I don’t know how to stop it.”

“Not yet. But you will. In time.” The confidence in his voice eases some of the panic clawing at my ribs. “We can leave, if you wish.”