The storm rolled across the horizon long before the first thunder ever broke. Elena felt it, deep in her bones, in the quiet corners of her mind that used to belong only to her. But now, after everything the Crimson Line had forced into her veins, after the visions that tore through her every night, after the three days of constant pressure, constant whispers, constant warnings… she knew she wasn’t the same girl who stepped into the ritual hall.
She hadn’t slept. Not properly. Not peacefully. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Dante reaching for her, blood dripping down his jaw, an expression torn between desperation and regret. And then she saw Aurora, standing on the opposite side of her dreamscape, pale hair shimmering like moonlit frost, her hand extended with a promise Elena sti
