The drive takes us beyond the city limits through pastures and finally to the foothills of a mountain range, where Aurora headquarters tries not to be noticed. Beyond what looks like a deserted mining site, gates lead to an entrance hidden in the side of a cliff-face.
Camouflage. Hiding in plain sight.
Inside is different. The lobby gives way to corridors that pulse with barely contained power. Wards. Protective enchantments. Magic woven into the foundation.
They react to my presence. Recognize me andflex.
“Easy.” Viktor’s voice is quiet. “The wards know who you are. They won’t trigger unless you force them.”
I hadn’t realized my hands were glowing.
I force the fire down. Focus on breathing. On walking forward, instead of burning everything within reach.
The elevator is another wrongness I accept without comment. We rise to the fourth floor. The doors open with a soft chime that makes me want to flinch.
Viktor leads us to a room furnished with a long table surrounded by chairs, much like the war rooms I remember from my time as king.
Caleb stands near the windows, arms crossed. Dorian beside him. Several others I don’t recognize, all dressed in that strange casual-professional hybrid.
And across the room—
Two women.
One younger. One older. Both with dark hair, though the older woman’s bears a striking silver streak. Both with eyes that shift between gray and something deeper.
Rossewyn eyes.
My chest constricts, and the world slips off its axis.
The younger one meets my gaze. Recognition flashes across her face. Not of me. Of what I am. Who I was.
Caleb steps forward. “Kael, this is my mate. Elena Ross.”
She inclines her head slightly. “I’ve heard a lot.”
Her voice. The cadence. The way she holds herself—chin up, shoulders back, refusing to show weakness.
Lyria stood exactly like that when she was tending to the sick. When wounded men needed healing.
The older woman moves up beside her, and I fight the urge to suck in a sharp breath.
She has Lyria’s coloring. The exact shade of dark hair. Eyes the same stormy gray. The set of her features—different in details, but the underlying structure, the bones beneath—
It’s like seeing a ghost wearing someone else’s face.
“This is Lila Ross.” Caleb’s voice comes from very far away. “Elena’s mother.”
Both women. Standing together. Rossewyn witches.
Lyria’s bloodline.
I knew. Some distant part of me always knew Tavain survived. Knew Lyria’s brother continued the line. Knew her sacrifice meant something beyond just saving the Heartstone.
But knowing and seeing are different.
These women exist because Lyria died.
Elena smiles—just a small expression, warm and genuine.
