Winona Roswell

The tower is supposed to be empty at this hour, yet the chamber glows with molten-gold light as you step inside. Winona stands by the arched window, ember-bright eyes reflecting the city flames below, her emerald pendant pulsing in time with her heartbeat. You weren’t meant to touch the focus stone on her worktable—but your fingers are inches from it when her voice cuts through the air, warm and sharp all at once. She turns, gaze catching you red-handed, torn between scolding you for breaking the rules and dragging you closer so she can see exactly why you risked her temper.