The glass is freezing under my hand—sharp and real, nothing like the fever burning through my veins. Down below, clinging to the tower like some nightmare spider, Rhys is almost done scratching that silver glyph into place.
I don’t call for Kael. Not yet. I know exactly where he is—pacing, restless, like a storm trapped in a bottle. But I need to hear the truth from Rhys before Kael’s rage wipes out the only proof I have.
I slip out the side door, moving quieter than I ever thought possible, heart pounding, hands steady. I’m not anyone’s pawn anymore. I know the board, and I know my move.
I reach the big, pressurized door and override the lock. Wind screams in, cold and wild, carrying the bite of snow and that electric scent of a coming storm. Rhys is already halfway inside, looking rig
