Amara stepped deeper into the Abyss, the oppressive darkness pressing against her chest like a vice. It wasn’t just the lack of light—it was the feeling that the very air was alive, whispering, tugging at the edges of her sanity. Damon’s voice still echoed in her ears, mocking her bravery. But she knew better. This wasn’t him.
Or at least, not yet.
The faint pulse of their bond kept her moving forward, her feet navigating a path that seemed to shift with every step. The ground beneath her felt like quicksand, pulling her down with each movement. Her light flickered weakly, as though the Abyss itself was feeding off her energy.
“You can’t save him, Amara.”
The voice came again, softer this time, and somehow more chilling. It sounded like Damon, but twisted, dripping with malice.
“Stop
