“A husky contralto with a dry edge, quiet enough that listeners lean closer. In moments of fear, a second resonance seems to flicker beneath her words, like a coal shifting under ash.”

A smoke-stained russet wrap shirt beneath a sleeveless indigo work coat, patched trousers tucked into soft-soled boots, and a long sash embroidered with tiny geometric flames. She wears a ceramic bead at her throat made from the last vessel she fired with her family. The bead is cracked but carefully polished.

Kaylah keeps her elbows close and her weight on the balls of her feet. She watches hands more than faces. When listening sincerely, she tilts her head and briefly reveals the sharpened line of her canine tooth. When the Mark of Flame stirs, she presses two fingers beneath her collarbone and unconsciously angles her body between the mark and everyone else.