The darkness isn't a solid wall; it’s a thick, suffocating tide that pulls me under, one inch at a time. The cloying, sweet scent of chloroform clings to my lungs, turning the screams of the ballroom into distant, muffled echoes—like I’m listening to the end of the world from the bottom of a deep, dark well. Sade’s hands are still on me, his grip a proprietary brand that makes my skin crawl even as my senses fail. I want to fight, to scream for Killian, to reach for the amber fire in Mace’s eyes, but my limbs are made of lead, and the world is dissolving into a blur of flickering chandeliers and blood-spattered marble.
Then, the world explodes.
It isn't a sound, but a feeling—a seismic shift in the air that vibrates through the mark on my neck. The shimmering purple barrier that had been
