The heavy silence in the bedroom was broken only by the crackle of the hearth, which provided a weak, flickering light against the encroaching gloom. Gillian lay on the bed, his body feeling like a leaden weight he could no longer lift. His skin was still traced with those terrifying, blackened lines, a map of his own internal collapse. Despite his desperate attempts to regain control, his muscles refused to obey. He was a man defined by strength, yet he was currently reduced to a state of utter helplessness. The curse pulsed in time with his erratic heartbeat, a reminder that the boundary between the living and the hollow was becoming thinner with every passing second.
Ghea stood by the foot of the bed, her expression unreadable. She had not left since the moment she entered. She watched
