The air inside the house was heavy, as if it had absorbed the echo of my thoughts. My fingers toyed with a kitchen knife, moving it slowly through the air in front of me, sliding it back and forth with a slight tremor. I still didn’t have the control I wanted, but I was close.
Every movement required concentration, but it was better than thinking about Lucian’s words, his look, his betrayal.
The knife dropped sharply as I felt her presence.
I didn’t need to look at the door to know who it was. Her energy was unmistakable, heavy, like a shadow trying to eclipse everything in its path.
And, as if she owned the place, Morgana walked in.
Her heels echoed against the wooden floor, each step a reminder of her self-proclaimed authority. She closed the door behind her with a deliberate motion
