“Hayyel—still.” Through Vig’s palm, a cold frisson shot into my chest, icing a path to my stomach. It hit the boiling evil that had crawled inside me from touching the grave and sprang back, mimicking a bungee rope throwing its adrenaline junkie victim back toward the cliff he’d leapt off.
The evil exploded, splintering into marble sized coals. My stomach knotted into a contraction worthy of expelling an elephant. My back arched until my feet and shoulders ground into the soil.
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