The atmosphere in the dungeon had undergone a violent chemical shift. The stagnant, oppressive air of Sector 9 was gone, replaced by a churning vortex of competing elemental forces. The shattered obsidian pylons lay in heaps of useless, blackened glass, and the scent of the encounter between Gwen and Lucien—a heady, intoxicating mix of ozone, crushed jasmine, and raw, masculine musk—clung to the damp stone walls like a physical weight.
"Move!" Kaelen's voice wasn't a shout; it was a low, vibrating snarl that bypassed Gwen's ears and struck directly at her spine.
