The ballroom still reeked of smoke and blood. Broken chandeliers dangled from the ceiling like snapped bones, their crystals catching stray light and scattering it across overturned tables and shattered goblets. Roses—those damned roses the Poison Court had used to lace the air—still littered the floor, their crimson petals crushed beneath fleeing feet.
Lyra could still taste them on her tongue. Sweet, sickly, and poisoned.
Her knees nearly buckled as she pushed herself against a marble pillar. Her lungs burned, her vision blurred, and every heartbeat felt like a hammer inside her skull. She should have collapsed with the rest—she would have, if not for the bond.
The bond.
Kael's presence seared through her veins, defiant and unyielding. She felt him like fire threading through her poisoned blood, holding her upright when her body screamed to fall.
"Breathe," his voice snapped across the smoke, sharp and commanding.
