“Liam,” she said, as if my name didn’t taste like guilt on her tongue.
I smiled.
Even from jail, I kept my eyes on this place. Even locked in a mortal hellhole of concrete and fluorescent lights, I still pulled strings. I bribed guards, turned inmates, and whispered promises to the right people. I set plans in motion that she didn’t even know about.
I had more people in my pocket than she could imagine.
As always, I was two steps ahead.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she replied. “This isn’t—”
“Mine?” I finished for her, stepping past the table without asking permission. “Oh, but it is.”
My attention drifted to the throne.
The Master’s throne.
Carved from obsidian stone marked with ancient sigils, it pulsed faintly with leftover power. I could feel it calling to me, recognizing its true
