Quinn’s POV
The fire spread across the wasteland like a living tide, rivers of molten flame carving through jagged earth. The air blistered, heavy with ash and smoke. Quinn’s lungs ached with every breath, but he barely noticed. His focus was on Rowan—his son, the golden spark clutched against him, the only light holding back the Sovereign’s endless night.
But even Rowan’s glow seemed fragile here.
The molten shadow, the Sovereign’s construct, towered over them, its form flickering with smoke and burning pitch. It wore Jace’s face—his jawline, his piercing eyes, his shoulders, all sculpted from flame and shadow. But where Jace’s presence had once steadied Quinn, this figure exuded nothing but ruin. Its eyes were pits of burning coal. Its mouth twisted into a cruel grin.
Rowan clutched
