You can run across oceans, across Veils, across worlds, Jesryn–but I will find you.

The gods called her chosen. I call her mine, and that is the holier word.
The first touch wasn't gentle. It was a detonation—hunger, fury, grief. Three years collapsing into one impossible second.
He was beautiful, in the way storms were: bright, destructive. Meant to be survived rather than loved.