The sky above them crackled—a canvas of lightning, fury, and fractured oaths.
Eli stood on scorched earth, breath steady, posture poised, but something inside her finally healed . She was whole again, fully healed, her golden glow burning like a second sun across the battlefield. The power of the life fruit thrummed beneath her skin—ageless, overwhelming—but none of it silenced the ringing words in her head.
"Atlas is mine."
Claire's voice had echoed like a curse.
A lover's claim, bold and unyielding.
And it burned in Eli's chest—not because of jealousy, but because of audacity. How dare she say his name like that? Like she knew him? Like she'd suffered with him? Like she had earned the right?
No.
Claire was nothing more than a madwoman dressed in divine power. A broken shell puppeteered by something darker.
