The fire had not died.
Not in Selina’s bones. Not in Zane’s breath. Not in the world.
Something ancient had awakened the moment the curse broke—uncoiling like a serpent in the far reaches of the realm, awakened by their defiance. The air itself crackled with energy, heavy and expectant, as if the world held its breath.
Selina sat beside Zane in the healer’s quarters, her fingers still trembling. Though the physical wounds were healing, the psychic aftershocks were harder to shake.
He was alive.
But something wasn’t right.
Zane leaned back against the stone wall, shirtless, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Golden veins of magic still shimmered faintly across his skin, remnants of what had bound and nearly destroyed him. Victor knelt before him, inspecting the rune-scar
