The thought of going outside made her mouth go dry. But this was far from where Loric lived. The lower districts, judging by the state of the buildings. They wouldn't waste resources searching this far out.

  Would they?

  She wasn't certain. But she needed to know whether this reinforcement actually worked.

  Her eyes found the leash hanging by the door.

  Skippy was watching her, tail already beginning that hopeful, tentative wag.

  "Oh, alright," Magnolia muttered. "Fine."

  She reached for the leash.

  Skippy went absolutely berserk.

  * * *

  The neighborhood dozed in the late morning light, its streets nearly empty. No one spared a second glance for a girl walking a small, excitable dog. Why would they? She was nobody. She intended to stay that way.

  Magnolia kept her head down regardless. The book pressed against her hip where she'd tucked it into the waistband of her borrowed trousers. Skippy trotted ahead of her, nose skimming the ground, tail working furiously at every new smell.

  The buildings here were older than those in the upper districts, their stone worn smooth by generations of weather. But there was life here, too. Laundry fluttered on lines. Children's laughter rang out from somewhere beyond sight. The smell of fresh bread drifted from an open window.

  Eventually she spotted it: a small park wedged between two rows of cramped houses. A wooden sign at the entrance identified it as Miller’s Green, with an arrow pointing toward something called the Ridge Trail.

  A hiking trail.

  Magnolia looked at Skippy. Skippy looked at the trail. His tail began to wag with renewed enthusiasm.

  "Fine," she said. "Let's go."

  The path wound upward into a wooded hillside. Skippy bounded ahead, darting between trees, pausing to investigate a particularly fascinating stick before abandoning it for something even more fascinating three feet away.

  Magnolia climbed until she could hear nothing but birdsong and the crunch of her own footsteps on packed earth.

  Quiet. Real quiet.

  She emerged into a clearing.

  Boulders rose from the hillside like the knuckles of some vast hand pushing up through the soil. The largest stood at least five times her height.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Magnolia unclipped Skippy's leash.

  "Stay close," she told him. "I need to test something."

  Skippy sat down, ears flopping, head tilted at an angle that suggested polite bewilderment.

  She approached the largest boulder and pressed her fist against it experimentally. Solid. Dense. Utterly indifferent to her existence.

  Very well, then.

  She stepped back. Rolled her shoulders. Drew a slow breath.

  Then she reached for her mana.

  The power came easier this time, she barely had to reach before it was there, pooling warm behind her sternum. She coaxed it down through the muscle of her shoulder, along her inner forearm, into her closed fist.

  Her knuckles began to glow.

  Magnolia exhaled.

  Then she charged.

  Three steps. Her arm drew back. Her fist drove forward.

  The impact jolted through her bones like a thunderclap. Skippy yelped and scrambled backward, ears flattened against his skull.

  Magnolia stared.

  A crack split the boulder's face. Not a scratch, not a chip, but a genuine fissure running through solid stone.

  "I did it," she breathed. Then, louder, spinning to face Skippy with a grin she couldn't have suppressed if she'd tried: "Did you see that? I actually did it!"

  Skippy's tail offered a tentative wag, though his eyes remained wary.

  Again. She had to try again.

  She turned back to the boulder. Drew another breath. Reached for her mana...

  But this time, something slipped.

  The power came unevenly, pooling in some places and thin in others, like water through a cracked cup.

  She punched anyway.

  The sound that followed was not the crack of splitting stone.

  It was the crack of splitting bones.

  Pain detonated through her hand. She stumbled backward, clutching her wrist, a strangled cry tearing loose from her throat.

  Her hand was already beginning to swell, the knuckles misaligned beneath the skin, blood welling from where it had split against the stone.

  Fix it. Fix it fix it fix it—

  She reached for her sorcery without thinking.

  It was different from reinforcement. Less like filling a vessel and more like flexing a limb she'd possessed all along but didn't know she could use.

  She focused on her hand.

  Shift. Reform. Heal.

  The bones ground against one another. She bit down on her tongue hard enough to taste copper. Then, with a series of clicks she felt more than heard, they settled back into place. The swelling receded like a tide going out. The split skin knitted itself together.

  Seconds later, her hand was whole.

  Magnolia flexed her fingers. Sore, but functional. Entirely intact.

  There was a cost. She could feel it. Just a slight dip in her stamina. Barely there.

  Reinforcement is armor, she thought. Sorcery is a tool. And both run on the same fuel.

  Then she looked at the boulder. At the fissure she'd carved into it. At her hand, whole and unbroken.

  I can do this.

  I can become stronger.

  And when the Peacekeepers came for her again—and they would, she harbored no illusions about that—she would be ready.