The light faded slowly, like a breath being exhaled after centuries held too tight.
Garrick was gone.
Swallowed by the ancient roots, his screams still echoing faintly—like a memory refusing to die. In his place, the ground pulsed with soft silver veins, slowly sealing over where he’d been.
Rowan stood in the silence, shoulders rising and falling with each breath like he was carrying the entire forest’s grief in his lungs.
Jace was the first to reach him. He didn’t say anything—didn’t ask if Rowan was okay or what had happened or what it meant.
He just stepped forward and folded his arms around his son.
Rowan stiffened—then melted into it.
The sob that left his chest was small, barely a sound at all. But it hit Quinn like a spear. He stumbled forward and wrapped his arms around them
