Her words clung to me like damp rot—You’re mine. They echoed in my skull as we pushed deeper into the Deadwood, the forest closing around us like a fist. My wounds throbbed—leg, arm, side—but I gritted my teeth and kept pace with Lucian, the bond a taut thread pulling me forward. The dagger was back in its leather wrap, but its hum still vibrated in my bones, a lingering reminder of her power. Her claim.
I didn’t understand what she meant. But the way Lucian’s jaw stayed clenched, his eyes tracking every shadow, told me he was just as shaken.
Killian led, staff tapping the earth, his usual banter lost to silence. Mara brought up the rear, bruised but steady, her knife drawn and her expression cold. The Deadwood had gone still. Not calm—waiting. Like it held its breath.
“We’re close,” Lu
