Smoke still clung to the corridors as Calla and Adrian emerged from the lower levels, the echoes of gunfire fading into an uneasy silence. Bodies had been cleared. Blood scrubbed. But the air remained thick with violence — and something else.
Power.
Calla felt it humming beneath her skin, restless, alive. The silver glow had faded, but the sensation remained, coiled tight in her chest like a second heart.
Adrian felt it too. He didn’t let go of her hand as they walked. Not once. His thumb brushed her knuckles in slow, grounding strokes, a steady reminder: I’m here. You’re safe.
Until they weren’t.
Lorenzo appeared at the end of the hall, face grim. “We intercepted a message.”
Adrian stopped. Calla felt his body tense instantly — the wolf rising to attention.
“From who?” Adrian asked
