*
The storm hit like walking into a wall. One moment we were on the platform's edge, the next we were inside the fury—rain so heavy it blinded me, wind that tried to tear me away from Zephyron's grip, thunder that rattled my restructured bones. Lightning struck close enough that I felt it through the soles of my feet, close enough that afterimages burned across my vision in branching white patterns.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't see. The wind tore at my clothes with violence that should have terrified me.
But his hand held mine with absolute certainty. He led me forward through chaos that would have killed me three days ago, before the transformation started. Would have frozen me, electrocuted me, thrown me from the platform to fall hundreds of feet to the city below.
Now it just felt like walking through the physical manifestation of power. His power. The storm responded to his will even as we moved through it, lightning striking in patterns that formed a path, wind gusting just enough to push us forward without tearing us apart.
I trusted him completely. That realization cut through the chaos with crystal clarity. I trusted him to lead me through this impossible storm. Trusted him to complete the transformation without destroying me. Trusted him in ways I'd never trusted anyone, not even before the cult.
We walked for what felt like forever but was probably only seconds. The platform beneath our feet was slick with rain but somehow stable, like the metal itself responded to his command.
Then we passed through something.
Not a physical barrier—I saw nothing, felt nothing but a subtle pressure like moving through a soap bubble. But the moment we crossed that invisible threshold, everything changed.
The wind died. The rain went from torrential downpour to gentle shower. The thunder that had been deafening became distant rumble, like it was happening in another world entirely.
I gasped, stumbling slightly as my body adjusted to the sudden absence of resistance. Zephyron caught me easily, steadying me while I blinked water from my eyes and tried to understand what had just happened.
We stood in perfect calm.
The eye of the storm.
I turned slowly, taking in the impossible sight. Around us, maybe fifty feet in every direction, rain fell gently. Peacefully. Like the soft spring showers I remembered from childhood before the cult. Beyond that gentle perimeter, the storm still raged—I could see the wall of wind and violence spinning around us in a perfect cylinder. Lightning danced through those outer clouds in cascading patterns. Thunder rolled constantly.
But here, in this sphere of stillness, we were untouchable.
"Look up," Zephyron said quietly.
I tilted my head back. The clouds above spiraled in a perfect circle, creating an opening to the sky beyond. Through that opening, I saw stars. Actual stars, despite it being just past dawn. The storm had blocked out so much light that the stars were visible, twinkling serenely in the small patch of sky Zephyron had left clear.
"How . . ." My voice came out awed. Broken.
"Control." His hand found mine again, fingers threading through my soaked hair. "Absolute control. The storm wants to consume everything. I'm holding it back. Creating this space where we can exist safely while surrounded by enough power to level a city."
I looked at him. Really looked. Rain dripped from his storm-gray hair, tracking down his face in rivulets that caught the strange silver light filtering through the clouds. His eyes were electric blue, crackling with contained lightning. He looked like something from mythology. A storm god made flesh.
"This is where we complete the bond," he said. His hand framed my face, thumb tracing along my cheekbone. "In the calm heart of the storm. Where my power is strongest. Where you can scream and break and transform without anyone hearing except me and the weather."
His certainty wrapped around me through the bond. Warm. Absolute. Protective in ways that made my chest ache.
"You broke away from the cult." His voice went softer, more intimate despite the distant thunder. "Even with all the programming, all the poison, you found the strength to break away."
I shook my head. "I just—I couldn't let him succeed. Couldn't let Valdris win."
"You could have." His other hand came up, cradling my face completely. "You could have tried to hide, to disappear, to save yourself. Most people would have. Survival instinct demands it."
His thumbs traced matching patterns on my cheekbones. The touch sent gentle sparks cascading, warm rather than shocking.
"But you chose differently. You chose to run toward potential danger to prevent greater harm. That took more courage than you know."
The words settled into places I hadn't known were empty. Hungry. Desperate for someone to see the choice I'd made and recognize it as something other than strategic calculation.
"That's who you really are," he continued. "Beneath the High Priestess programming. Beneath the analytical detachment and the performance of worthiness. You're someone brave enough to run toward danger to protect others. Someone who transforms herself to save people she's never met."
My eyes stung. The gentle rain on my face disguised the tears but he knew. Through the bond, he felt everything.
