CHAPTER 49
Lucian stood in the center of the scorched circle, his boots sinking into the unnaturally dry earth.
To his eyes, the cabin was gone—wiped from the physical plane by a blast of high-level concealment so total it felt like a bruise on reality.
But the silence began to grate against his senses. He closed his eyes, forcing his breath to slow, letting the cold mist of the forest cling to his skin and settle in his long hair.
He could taste the residue of magic on the air. This wasn't the frantic magic of a cornered witch clinging to survival.
This was deliberate. Controlled. Enjoyed. Clara's magic had been failing for hours; he had felt it thinning ever since that ritual had gone south.
She could barely maintain a privacy charm anymore. She certainly could not erase a structure from the land and leave nothing but scorched absence behind.
And even if she could... Lucian's jaw tightened.
