The stench of salt and iron in the air was nauseating.
Elijah swallowed against the dryness prickling at his throat.
With a gentle pat on Alexei's shoulder, he pushed himself to walk toward the sea, where the water had turned red.
His head was spinning, the shoreline tilting under his boots.
Crouching without thinking, his gaze remained transfixed on something half-buried in the wet sand — the charm.
The cursed thing was still here.
His fingers closed around the runes on it, ignoring the way it clung damply to his skin.
Despite being soaked, the edges were sharp enough to slice across his thumb.
He hissed at the sting, watching a bead of blood bloom, before it seeped into the tarnished charm.
The demonic thing gave a faint, shuddering pulse.
Then, right there in his hand, it crumbled, turned into ash, before floating away on the wind.
The blood smeared across his skin burned cold. Elijah stared at the crimson spot, almost in a daze.
Grey eyes looked hazy.
