The chamber doesn’t calm.
It reorients.
The silver barrier I created hums steadily now, no longer reactive—intentional. The pressure eases just enough for me to breathe without shaking, though my pulse is still loud in my ears, my skin too warm, too aware.
Damien stands inches from the barrier, hands braced against invisible resistance, chest rising and falling hard. His eyes track every breath I take, every shift of my weight, like he’s memorizing me in case I disappear again.
Rowan remains a step back.
Watching.
Thinking.
That alone makes him more dangerous.
Maerra turns sharply, her authority snapping back into place. “No one moves.”
One of the councilors scoffs. “She just locked two Alphas out of a High Chamber.”
Maerra’s eyes never leave me. “And yet none of you are dead.”
