Nova's POV
The hand moved.
One inch. Maybe two. The ice over Ravenna's fist grinding and shifting as the fire underneath it tried to find a crack, tried to remember how to burn, tried to refuse what Nova and Thorne had just done to it.
Nova pressed her palms harder against the ground.
"It's not holding," Thorne said. Low and fast.
"I know."
"Nova"
"I know."
The frost over Ravenna's arm fractured along a thin line hairline crack, running from wrist to elbow and the orange heat showed through it, and Nova poured more cold into the ground and the crack sealed, but only just, only barely, and she could feel the effort it cost her the way you feel the last inch of a held breath before your lungs give out.
Ravenna had been storing fire magic all night.
Even frozen, even encased, she still had reserves Nova couldn't match with willpower alone. Fire didn't stop burning just because you covered it. It waited. It found the smallest gap and it remembered what it was.
