"Chains can hold a body, but never a will. The mistake is thinking one can bind what was born to rise."
Marcus's POV
Duty had a way of weighing on your shoulders like wet armor. I had carried it since the moment Alaric barked at his order, his voice so sharp it left no room for doubt. Find she-Omega, take the Thorne brothers, and leave no stone unturned. So here I was, stalking the corridors of the castle with Gavriel and Rell at my heels, the echo of our boots mingling with the shuffle of the royal guard fanning across the kingdom grounds. Every breath of the place carried tension. Stone walls felt narrower, air thicker, as if the castle itself had heard the roars and was waiting for its own collapse.
"Don't you think," Gavriel muttered beside me, his bow slung casually over his shoulder, "if this Omega is as dangerous as they say, maybe sending the three of us with a pack of over-eager guards isn't exactly the smartest plan?"
