PREVIEW

... lame, but with a slow, terrible groan — like a world pulling itself apart at the seams. Clouds fractured into mirrored shards. Lightning stitched the heavens together with silver thread. The Riftstorm had begun.

Ning Que stood on the fractured platform above the Third Gate, wind screaming around him like a creature in mourning. Below, the sea churned into impossible spirals, as if the ocean itself were convulsing in confusion. And beside him — collapsed, threadbare — lay Mireya.

...

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