[Ann's POV]
Gale's question—"Do you even know what a Thaumamorph is?"—didn't just hang in the air; it drilled into my skull, echoing in the hollow chamber of my mind, each syllable landing like a hammer on an anvil. Thaumamorphs. The word was alien, a cluster of harsh syllables that meant nothing to my conscious mind, and yet… my body knew. My hands, which had just steadied, began to tremble again, a fine, uncontrollable vibration that started in my fingertips and raced up my arms.
Why? Why am I feeling this?
A deep, rolling nausea twisted in my gut. The rich, savory meal we'd just shared—the bear paw, the broth, the noodles, the pudding—suddenly felt like a leaden, foreign mass. It lurched, threatening to rise. The taste of bile coated the back of my tongue.
