The forest didn’t breathe anymore.
It howled.
Cain stood in the center of it—motionless, loose-limbed, and calm in the way only monsters could be. The trees twisted around him, shadows fleeing the golden fire burning in his veins. They came from the east first—figures in obsidian armor, helms shaped like wolves, cloaks soaked in salt and blood.
The Wardens of the Ember Court.
They didn’t speak as they spread through the clearing. Silent. Surgical. Ancient.
Cain cracked his neck, raised his hands.
“Let me guess,” he drawled. “You’re here for the girl.”
One of them stepped forward, taller than the rest. No visible face beneath the helm—only a crown of bone and a brand that shimmered over black metal: the seal of Final Judgment.
“She’s breached the Hollow,” the Warden said, voice like
