The storm has been chasing us since the Conclave ended.
Rain sheets across the windshield, relentless, whispering against the glass like a thousand accusing voices. The wipers move in a steady rhythm—thunk, hiss, thunk—and the car hums with quiet, warded power. I can feel the faint vibration of the runes William etched into the metal long ago; every few seconds, one pulses faintly blue, responding to his aura.
He hasn’t said a word since we left the fortress.
Neither have I.
Outside, the forest blurs into streaks of black and silver, branches bowed under the weight of water. The headlights carve tunnels through mist. My reflection stares back at me from the window: pale, exhausted, eyes hollowed by too much fear and too little sleep.
Finally, I can’t stand it anymore.
“You could’ve w
