Elena’s POV
The night air still clung to my skin, heavy with the scent of pine and fire, when I sat up in bed.
Lucien’s warmth lingered on the pillow beside me, but he was gone—drawn to his shadows again, pacing through strategy and war plans while I tried to make sense of the storm unraveling inside me.
The Hollow pulsed beneath my feet, a whisper in my blood, a rhythm older than my breath. It had been calling since the moment I crossed its threshold—since I died and lived again in Lucien’s arms.
And now it pulsed louder.
Louder every time I touched him.
Louder every time he said my name like a vow.
I rose, bare feet gliding silently across the stone floor as I stepped into the bathing chamber. The water in the moonlit basin shimmered, reflecting the faint, silver lines etching the
