The wind howled like a living thing, tearing through the trees as if mourning what we’d left behind in the ruins of Silas’s lair. Alistair was stable now, resting beneath a canopy of ancient redwoods. Selene had set protective wards around the glade, but even their warm shimmer couldn’t calm the chaos in my chest.
I sat a few feet away, legs curled beneath me, hands trembling over a burning mark on my forearm. It hadn’t been there before the explosion. A jagged crescent surrounded by runes—etched into my skin like a brand.
Selene knelt beside me. “It’s the Sigil of the Veil,” she murmured, brushing her fingers over the mark. “Silas may have started the ritual… but you completed it.”
I looked at her, heart racing. “What does that mean?”
“It means the door between worlds is cracked.” She
