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    Summary

    Ambessa’s thumb draws a slow, hot, unceasing line from Caitlyn’s cheek to the center of her cupid’s bow, and the many fine, married gears of her brain come to a grinding halt. The animal locked deep inside her body—starving-needy, sharp-toothed—resurfaces with an unbearable, unbalancing kind of hunger. Her chest is caving from the inside.

    “You have potential, Kiramman,” says Ambessa, and just like that Cait’s young again, shrunk to size and aching all over with the opportunity to prove herself. Her spine wants to give out. I have so much potential. Ambessa pauses with her finger still to the commander’s lips and drawls, so close and quiet her breath ghosts over Caitlyn’s skin: “But you will only ever rise to the level of your... basest distractions.” 

    Language:
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