*Maddy*
Cassian looks like absolute hell. His legs are stretched out on the couch in the informal den on the third floor, a place with a high-tech stereo and several bookcases stacked with magazines and board games. It’s normally a happy, relaxing place, but his presence sucks the very life out of the castle, let alone this room.
A wiry old man with bottle-cap glasses inspects the gleaming metal arm now attached to Cassian, replacing the right arm he lost in battle. I’m speechless, in total shock as I hover nearby, standing on my toes to look over the shoulder of the stooped old healer.
“Now, try to curl your fingers,” the healer says in a graveling voice. His nose crinkles with delight as Cassian does exactly that, the metal fingers flexing, then curling inward. “Incredible.”
Dark c
