Rowan’s POV
The shadows didn’t stop.
They came in waves—clawing, writhing, twisting themselves into every version of him Rowan never wanted to see. He fought until his arms ached, until his chest felt like it would split open from the weight of fire and fear. His golden flames tore through them, but each time he destroyed one, three more rose from its ashes.
And every time they looked like him.
Burning, broken, begging.
“Papa—” Rowan’s voice cracked as he staggered back against Quinn’s side. His fire sputtered, dimming like a candle drowning in wind. The images seared into him: himself consumed by white fire, himself on his knees, whispering for release. He couldn’t escape them. They weren’t just enemies—they were mirrors.
His father’s voice was fierce above the chaos. “Don’t look at
