They fell.
Not through air, but through a shroud of whispers that clawed at their skin and blood. They were drawn deeper by the lightless winds and layers of voices, yet the abyss had neither walls nor a bottom. Even their tie, which was the only thing holding them together, was stretched, with strands tearing as invisible hands attempted to pull it apart.
Elaria clung to Draven’s hand with all her strength, nails biting his palm. They lost their wolf, their heat, and their feeling of themselves as the abyss drew them in like a malicious gravity. Her heart stumbled and her lungs scorched.
"Draven—" The whispers drowned out her voice.
He snarled, forcing his golden eyes open against the crushing dark. “Don’t let go. No matter what you hear, Elaria. Don’t. Let. Go.”
The void shivered
