The doors blow open on a rush of light and magic.
For a second, nobody moves.
The corridor is full of scorched air, crackling runes, and the echo of a scream that didn’t sound like it belonged to any living thing I’ve ever heard. Wolves are still on their knees. Some haven’t managed to get up yet. The walls hum with leftover power, like the Chamber itself is trying to remember which way is up.
And then Jaxon steps through.
He’s barefoot, shirtless, half-wrecked—blood streaked down his arm in crescent shapes where claws clearly tore through him—but all I see is the bundle in his arms.
Blanket.
Tangle of silver hair.
My chest stutters.
I’m moving before I realize I’ve shoved anyone. It doesn’t matter who’s in my way—warriors, healers, royals—my hands are on Jax in the next breath.
“
