The iron-scented adrenaline of the battle had long since curdled into a cold, hollow exhaustion by the time the last of the purged wolves were secured in the lower grotto. The Embassy was quiet, save for the rhythmic, bioluminescent pulse of the Star-Core—a heartbeat that now synced perfectly with the one thrumming in Elara’s own chest.
Kaelen hadn't left her side. As they climbed the winding obsidian staircase toward the Royal Chambers, his hand stayed firmly anchored to the small of her back. Through the Blood-Union, Elara could feel the jagged, white-hot stings of his shoulder wounds. He was masking the pain, pushing it down so as not to overwhelm her, but to her, it felt like a low-frequency hum of agony.
"Stop," she whispered, pausing at the threshold of the heavy cedar doors.
Kael
