Silence hangs thick in the air, broken only by the faint crackling of flames licking at the ruined curtains. Anakin’s breaths come hard and fast, eyes fixed on the spot where the lead hunter had stood moments ago—before the shadows swallowed him whole, scream cutting off like a severed wire.
His hands tremble, dark energy still crackling faintly at his fingertips. The chains are gone, shattered into glimmering fragments across the floor, but the icy fire in his veins lingers—cold, raw, and hungry. Anakin stares down at his hands, eyes wide, chest tight with something that feels uncomfortably like panic.
“What… the hell did I just do?” he breathes, voice barely above a whisper.
Dante coughs from where he’s sprawled against an overturned table, grimacing as he peels himself off the
