THE ARCHITECT'S FINAL REVENGE
The echoes of the Great Unification still vibrated through the stone ribs of the Blackfang Stronghold, but the triumphant white-gold light had vanished, leaving behind a silence that felt heavy and wrong.
The grotto of the Ancient Spring was thick with a fog that didn't smell of minerals or steam, but of burnt ozone and something cold—something that didn't belong to the living world.
Lucien dragged himself toward the edge of the pool, his muscles screaming. The glowing tattoos of stardust on his chest were fading, leaving behind raw, red welts.
Beside him, Kaelen was struggling to his feet, his silver hair plastered to his forehead, his breath coming in jagged, pained gasps. They were bound now, their souls stitched together by the ritual, but the bond felt like a frayed rope swinging over an abyss.
"Gwen?" Lucien's voice was a ragged whisper, the authority of the Alpha stripped away by pure, visceral terror.
