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Saya pours the spiced honey in a slow spiral into the earthen cup. Every movement is careful, meant to sooth the terror-stricken man sitting across from us at the table. Smiling gently, she places the sweetened tea between his work-scarred palms and seats herself beside me, calming my quivering fingers with her hand.

His round eyes flick to me, then back to Saya, undoubtedly unnerved further by my cloudy, silver-white eyes.

“She can fix this?” He taps his temple and shivers.

“Yes,” Saya says. “She is the most gifted Dreamwalker in Althascar.”

I swallow. No, I’m all that remains.

(Written for The Prediction, 2nd entry. Challenge words: cloud, quiver, remain)

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