Talia POV
The air changed first.
Not sound. Not movement.
Pressure.
It crept low and sharp, like heat trapped beneath stone, pressing against her ribs and spine until her breath shortened. Talia felt it before anyone spoke—felt the pull, the subtle tightening of something hunting for purchase.
For her.
Ash-lines flared beneath Thomas’s boots, sickly green light bleeding through the stone floor in curling sigils that crawled outward, searching. The spell wasn’t fully formed yet—but it was alive. Hungry.
The mark on Talia’s chest burned.
Not pain.
Recognition.
Her heartbeat slowed instead of racing, a steady drum anchoring her where fear should have taken hold. Heat spread outward from the left side of her chest, sinking deep into muscle and bone, flowing down her arms like molten
