Blake POV
The wards hum differently when danger chooses patience.
It isn’t the sharp cry of an alarm or the violent surge of magic testing stone. It’s a pressure—subtle, deliberate. The kind that waits for you to make the first mistake.
Nitras is close.
Not striking. Not retreating.
Watching.
I stand in the central hall of the underground fortress, boots planted on stone that has known far too much blood, and let my breathing slow until it matches the rhythm of the wards. Blaze coils beneath my skin, fire tight and contained, his awareness stretched outward like claws brushing the dark.
He wants to be seen, Blaze rumbles. He always has.
“Yes,” I answer quietly. “And that’s why this ends tonight.”
I send the signal.
Not a shout. Not a flare of power.
A pulse through the fortress—
