The city had become a warzone, streets scarred by fire and blood, and the horizon smoldered with the aftermath of destruction. From the roof of our safe house, I could see smoke rising in jagged columns, marking the zones where the council had moved to assert control. Each plume was a reminder: time was slipping away, and their forces were relentless. Damian crouched near the rooftop’s edge, muscles coiled, fangs glinting in the dim light. His eyes scanned every street, every alley, every shadow where danger could be hiding. I stayed pressed against his back, feeling the twins stir sharply inside me, their kicks insistent, like a warning. My hands trembled as I held them, the weight of our unborn children heavy with responsibility. Chloe sat cross-legged beside her laptop, pale and focused
