The world came back with a taste of smoke and the bitter copper of fear. For a heartbeat I lay on the stone as if I had been knocked free of myself; then a hot scar of memory seared me—the torch, the falling banner, the letter with my husband's name written as if to buy us all. I pushed myself up, hair matted to my temple, lungs raw from smoke, and found Raidant still standing as though the room's chaos were a ring whose center he would not leave.
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