Page 138 of Song of the Heart Scale
I was on a couch. In sweatpants. Watching a movie.
I don’t even remember what it was called—something loud and full of explosions. The lead actor kept removing his shirt for no apparent reason, which Angie didn’t seem to mind. She was curled up on the other end of the sofa with a bowl of popcorn balanced on her knees, grinning like this was the pinnacle of civilization.
“See? I told you action movies are fun!” she said, tossing popcorn into her mouth.
“It's just men grunting and defying the laws of physics you taught me,” I replied, making a face. “And what is this obsession with slow-motion?”
“It’s cinematic!”
I scoffed. “It’s absurd. No one rolls away from an explosion in that many spirals unless they’re on fire.”
She snorted. “You’re impossible.”
“Andyouare far too easily entertained.”
Still, I didn’t hate it. Not entirely.
Angie glanced at me then, her face softened by the dim glow of the television. There was something in her eyes—a warmth I hadn’t earned, but maybe hadn’t completely repelled, either. The air between us had grown quieter over the last few weeks. Familiar. And maddeningly comfortable.
“Arya…” she said.
But before she could complete her thought, the front door burst open.
Literally. It slammed against the wall, and I was halfway to grabbing the nearest lamp to use as a weapon when a pair of figures came tumbling in.
One was tall and broad-shouldered, soaked to the bone, with hair as black as a crow's wing and eyes of obsidian.
The other was me.
Or rather—her.
“Holy shit!” Angie whispered, standing up so fast she knocked the popcorn bowl to the floor.
My eyes met hers—Cat's. My double. My mirror.
We both just stared. Like two paintings of the same woman who'd been hung in different wings of a gallery and had finally been brought face-to-face.
It was unsettling.
And infuriating that even soaked in rainwater and wearing attire from my world, she still looked like she'd walked out of a battlefield fashion show.
“Sothisis what you've been doing?” I said, eyeing her flatly. “Gallivanting around and dragging mud into people's homes?”
Cat huffed. “Nice to see you too, Arya.”
Damien stepped forward, steam practically rising from his skin. Literally. His shirt was torn, and he looked like he’d just wrestled a wyvern. Probably had.
“Arya,” he said with that deep, dragon-rumbling voice of his.
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly pulled a muscle. “Oh, excellent. The royal lizard has arrived. Aren’t you supposed to be in exile or something? Or better yet, with my sister?”
“We don’t have time for this!” Cat snapped. She turned to me. “If you want to go back, the portal is open. But only for a short time. It only opens from Elaria’s side. We got lucky this time.”
My stomach turned. I blinked. “Wait—what?”
“It’s now or never,” Cat said. “I know this isn’t how you wanted it, but if you miss this chance, you might be stuck here. Forever.”
The room tilted. Not literally. But it felt like the floor had dropped out from beneath me. Angie was still beside me, though now she looked like someone had punched her in the chest.
