Chapter Seventy-One
The valley’s stillness was a fragile mask, the air thick with the fading echo of the Architect’s voice and her scream—my scream—still ringing in my ears. The mark on my chest pulsed, a dull ache now, but alive, tying me to her, to him, to the Veil and its war. The dagger lay in my hand, its symbols dim but warm, a silent vow of battles yet to come. The bond with Lucian thrummed—his steady pulse, my fraying courage, our unbreakable tether—but it couldn’t erase the truth: I was the heart of a conflict older than the pack, older than me, and the city beyond the Veil was only the beginning.
We stood in the mud, battered and bloodied, the stones behind us dark, their runes extinguished, the spiral’s glow gone. Lucian’s hand rested on my shoulder, his silver eyes fierce des
