FIRE
The night air was thick with the scent of burning embers and something else—something wrong. The remains of the hellhounds had turned to dust, but Elara could still feel their presence, like an echo in her bones. Tristan sheathed his dagger, his movements sharp and precise. “We can’t stay here.” Elara barely heard him. The darkness that had lashed out from her hands still tingled beneath her skin, coiling like a living thing, hungry and waiting. She clenched her fists. Control it. She had to control it. “Elara.” She blinked and found Tristan watching her, his expression unreadable. “You’re shaking,” he said. She looked down at her hands. He was right. Her fingers trembled, her body humming with unspent energy. The magic wanted out. “We need answers,” she murmured. “If Selene is wak
- Writer
