Page 100 of Spirit Storm

I refocus on my new affinity, hoping to at least gain a basic understanding of what it is and how it works.

"Try the compression spell again, P." Asher is stretched out on a sun lounger, watching on with the same excited encouragement he has for all things. "You almost had that one."

Did I? Did I, really?

"Don't think about the wind itself," Orion suggests, sitting up on the lounger next to him. "If wind isn't the affinity, maybe that's throwing you off. Try thinking about the space that the moving air occupies and see if that helps."

"The space that the moving air occupies," I repeat, wrapping my mind around how that works.

"You said you feel the pressure of the movement, right?"

"Yeah, I think so. It's hard to describe."

Orion shrugs. "It's early days. Just keep experimenting until you get a feel for it."

Wylder nods. "Orion's right. What's emerging is more than wind, and until you have a grasp on what it is, try different approaches to see what works. Think about it like a courtship. You're getting to know your new partner. Learning what works and what doesn't while trying not to offend."

"And getting none of the sexual satisfaction," Asher adds.

Wylder frowns. "Are you contributing anything useful here, Hendrix?"

Asher flashes him a wide grin and pops his mirrored sunglasses to wink. "Oh, broody boy, if you don't understand what I contribute, I can't help you."

I roll my eyes and shut them out. Reaching for my new affinity still feels like trying to grip wet glass. The moment I think I have a hold on it, it slips and squeaks through my fingertips.

Spirit magic has weight, texture, and a presence I can grab, push, and pull. This is nothing like that. It's the absence of something. The gap between things.

I find the thread of it and pull. The air in front of me shudders…

And then, nothing.

"Almost," Wylder says.

I scoff. "You say that every time."

"Because you're almost there every time."

Asher raises a fist in solidarity. "You've got this, P."

"Thanks."

"I genuinely believe you're the bomb, baby girl."

I smile. "I know you do."

Orion rolls off his lounger, picks up a rock the size of a cantaloupe from the tideline, and sets it in the sand in front of me. "Try crushing it."

I stare at him. "With air."

"With pressure. Atmospheric compression. Squeeze the space around it until it gives."

I look at the rock. The rock looks unbothered.

I reach for the affinity again, find that slippery thread of absence, and this time I try to think about density instead of movement. Not air rushing, but air tightening. I pull the space around the boulder inward like tightening a fist, layer by layer.

The rock develops a hairline crack down one side.

Then the pressure blasts sideways, and Orion takes the full force of it square in the chest. He stumbles back two steps, hits the wet sand, and sits down hard.