The moment Rowan screamed, the wind bent sideways.
Not around them—through them. A shriek that wasn’t wind at all but a child’s grief, torn from the soul, carved raw by love.
Quinn stumbled to his knees.
Not because of the force—but because of what he felt.
“He’s tethering Milo,” Kaelen’s voice whispered through him.
“Like I was once tethered to you.”
“But there’s no love in this one. Only pain.”
“Milo,” Quinn rasped, watching the wings twist from his friend’s back—black as ash, veined with rot. “Hold on…”
But Milo wasn’t in control anymore.
He hovered, arms outstretched, body suspended like a marionette—and beneath him, the throne Garrick summoned pulsed with rot.
“I thought Milo was just a rogue,” Jace said, voice trembling. “But he… he was something more.”
“He was mine,” Quin
