The morning light was no longer a gentle amber; it had sharpened into a brilliant, crystalline gold that lanced through the panoramic windows of the penthouse. Inside the master suite, the air was thick, heavy with the scent of sandalwood and the lingering, metallic tang of an atmospheric energy discharge. Susan, the Headmaster of the Phoenix Academy, had completely abandoned her icy, professional persona. Her slender, pale hands—usually used to direct the devastating flows of the Vermilion Bird Fire—were now clamped firmly on Leo Shaw’s face, pulling him inches from her own.
Her golden eyes were wide, the pupils dilated with a frantic, pulsing energy that mirrored her irregular breathing. The authoritative Empress who governed three thousand elite female metahumans was gone, replaced by
