WHITE PALMS (The Noctari: Blood of the Rare One)
They say blood is life.
But what if yours was never alive to begin with?
Nyra’s hands have always been cold. Her palms, too pale. Her veins, too silent. In class, in the hallways, even under the sun—her body carries no warmth, no blush of color.
She thought it was strange. She thought it was harmless.
Until the mirror smiled back at her.
Now, shadows whisper her name, crimson tonics stir in the kitchen, and her mother’s gentle voice hides secrets sharp enough to cut. Something ancient stirs in her veins, something rare enough to be feared… and hunted.
As the thin line between reflection and reality begins to shatter, Nyra must face a terrifying truth:
She doesn’t just carry blood.
She carries their blood.
The blood of the Noctari.
The blood of the rare one.
And once it awakens, there’s no turning back.