The dagger lay on the table in Lucian’s study, its etched symbols mocking us in the dim firelight. My wounds ached—leg stitched, arm bandaged—but the pain was a distant hum compared to the dread curling in my chest. That figure, its voice, the void-like arch—it wasn’t just a threat. It was a doorway, a glimpse into something far bigger than Bloodfangs or pack wars. The bond with Lucian thrummed, restless, urging action, but we had no map, no answers, only this cursed blade and a ticking clock.
Lucian stood across from me, his hands braced on the table, his silver eyes fixed on the dagger like he could will it to speak. Killian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his bruises stark under the flickering light. The pack was on edge outside, their murmurs filtering through the walls—fear, d
