Kaelen’s hand stayed raised.
The guards froze mid-step.
Snow melted on the stone floor, mixing with blood into thin red rivers that ran toward the dais.
Lyra lay at my feet, ash-flesh still twitching. Her gray tears kept falling — slow, thick, endless. She didn’t speak anymore. She just stared up at me with those rotting-light eyes, whispering Finn’s name like a broken prayer.
The pre-heat refused to die.
It sat low in my belly, a hot, shameful knot that made every breath feel like sin. My empty womb throbbed where the child had once lived. The heat wanted teeth. It wanted skin. It wanted Silas’s throat between my fangs so I could drink until the emptiness felt full again. I bit the inside of my cheek until blood flooded my mouth. Iron and salt. The only thing keeping me human.
Silas
