The moment my magic slipped past Claire's defenses, past the wards she threw up weakly around her mind, the world inverted.
There was no gentle transition. No warning. One second I was before her, hand pressed to her forehead, feeling her panic skitter uselessly beneath my palm—and the next, I was no longer in my body at all.
I was inside her.
But her mind did not open like a door, as Adam's. It fractured like glass.
Memory rushed at me in jagged shards, unfiltered, dragging me forward whether I wanted to go or not. I braced instinctively, grounding myself, and then—
Fire.
Not destruction. Not chaos.
A small, perfect sphere of flame hovered above a child's hands, spinning lazily, obedient and warm. Little Claire sat perched on a chair too large for her, feet swinging as she laughed, eyes bright with delight as the fire obeyed her every thought.
