Chapter 25
Tristan POV
The first thing I felt was the cold, unyielding press of stone against my spine. Not the familiar, worn-smooth flagstones of the Great Hall, but the rough, hewn granite of the Gabriella’s private chambers. A deep, bone-deep ache radiated from my lower back, a testament to a night spent in a vigil I had, in the end, failed to keep. I must have fallen asleep leaning against the wall, watching Gabriella. The thought was a shard of ice in my chest.
The last vestiges of memory clawed their way back—the frantic, terrifying energy of the previous night. The way the air itself had crackled, thick with unseen power, as Gabriella’s ritual reached its crescendo. The gut-wrenching lurch of fear I’d felt when her eyes had rolled back, a silent scream caught in her throat, and
