Of course, as soon as my words are out, the light in Dagny’s eyes flickers, her power over the powerful creature slipping through her fingers like grains of sand. Mor twitches, her abdomen undulating wildly as she strains against the band of magic holding her in place. Sweat glistens along Dagny’s upper lip as her brow furrows, using all of her strength to grasp at the fraying threads of control—but it’s not enough.

A wet clicking sound reverberates from the base of the kleptak’s throat as it straightens to its full height, the top of its head brushing the ceiling as it towers over a wide-eyed Dagny. She curses, jumping back just before Mor lunges, razor-sharp claws swiping the space where Dagny’s head used to be.

Instead of reacting, she stands frozen in place, her lips pinched in a thin line as she stares at the snarling creature. “Come on, Mor. Work with me.”

The beast tilts its head, the clicking sound increasing in pitch, reverberating off the walls and down to the marrow of my bones with a deadly warning—stay back.

Dagny sighs, her shoulders slumping as she turns her head away, too exhausted to try it again. She’s made a massive improvement in her driving magic abilities in the short time we’ve been training, but she still can’t control the kleptak for more than a few minutes without giving out.

Failure.

The word rings in my mind—but it doesn’t belong to me—and I know if I don’t do something, Dagny will spiral into that dark pit that lives in the furthest corners of her mind. Her shoulders slump, refusing to look me in the eye as she pretends to inspect a small crack in the floor.

It is anything but a failure, Dagny. You will learn to control it eventually. It’s okay.