(Apollo)
He felt it again— the memory of Adelaide in flames, screaming his name, fire curling around her like a lover.
He remembered falling to his knees in shock. He remembered fear—raw, real, choking him.
He remembered the Queen’s fire, a millennium ago.
No. No, no, no.
His whole body shook. “You dare compare this fire to her?” he snarled.
“My lord—”
Apollo grabbed the prophet by the hair and hurled her across the room.
She skidded across the scorching stone— then hit the wall with a sickening impact.
She crumpled— alive, but broken. Her rosary snapped, bone beads skipping across the floor and melting where they landed.
The other scholars flinched. Some turned to flee. Apollo let them run— just so he could chase.
He blurred into motion. He was a storm. A hurricane of claws and
