The corridors were bleeding heat. Smoke twisted like a living thing on the stones, weaving past doorways, holding on to the arches. My lungs were screaming for every breath I took, but I pushed my legs harder, my boots pounding the floor in time with Gideon’s heavy tread. Wren kept pace at my side, her braid now completely undone and her hair whipping her face as we ran.
The smell intensified—sweet, metallic, and decayed all at once. The sort of stench that held memories in it.
Blood. Ash. Betrayal.
Ahead, the council chamber towered, its carved doors glowing softly, the edges trembling as if the wood itself were alive and resisting. Magic.
“She sealed it,” Gideon said through clenched teeth.
Naturally she had. Arabella never left doors open unless she wanted you to walk through them.
