Evan POV
Elysia sighs as she hovers her hands over my battered knuckles, a soft green glow emanating from her palms. The warmth seeps into my skin, soothing the ache, knitting the fractured bones back together.
"You're impossible," she mutters. "I've told you a hundred times—stop destroying your hands like this."
I glance at my fingers as the bruises fade, the torn skin stitching itself back together as if the damage had never existed. I flex my hands, opening and closing them into fists.
"I'll try harder next time," I say flatly, knowing full well I won't.
Elysia gives me a long, unimpressed stare.
"Sure. And I'm secretly a pyromancer," she deadpans, before stepping back and brushing imaginary dust off her tailored black coat. "Now, let's go."
I frown, already dreading whatever ridiculous plan she's dragging me into.
"Go where?"
She arches a delicate brow, like I just asked something painfully obvious. "To find a gift, of course."
"A gift?" I echo.
