Every inch gained costs. The forest on the other side doesn’t want me here. Branches whip across my face. Roots rise to trip my feet. The ground itself seems to shift away from my steps.
But I can smell her now. Stronger. Closer. The pain in her scent is sharper.
I force the path wider with my shoulders, with my will. Blood pounds in my ears. My vision narrows to a single point ahead—where Nova’s scent leads.
The forest tries one last defense—a wall of twisted branches that spring up before me. I crash through them, ignoring the cuts they leave across my skin, the way they try to hold me back.
And then I’m through.
The clearing opens before me—wrong in ways I can’t name. Too perfect. Too aligned. The trees circle it like sentinels. At the center stands a stone altar, and beside it—
Nova.
Her body rigid. Her hand extended. Her face blank with a peace that doesn’t belong there.
And around her, shadows with intent.
The shadows twist and coil around her like liquid smoke. Measuring. Taking readings off her energy.
They want her. I can feel their hunger.
Nova stands too still, hand outstretched toward the stone altar like she’s offering something. Her eyes are open but empty—staring at nothing. Face blank. Breathing shallow.
Not happening.
I don’t think. I move.
Three strides and I’m across the clearing, driving through the barrier of shadows. They slice at my skin, cold as ice water. I ignore the pain, the resistance. My hand locks around Nova’s wrist, and I yank her backward, hard.
“Nova!”
Her body jerks like I’ve shocked her. The shadows screech—a sound that doesn’t exist in the air but vibrates through bone. The altar pulses.
The ground shakes. The trees bend inward.
Nova’s eyes snap into focus, but not with recognition. With fear. Her magic surges—violet fire that scorches my arms, my chest. She twists, trying to break free.
“Stop,” I growl, but the ritual field pulses.
“Let go,” she hisses, voice not her own.
I don’t. I hold tighter—one arm around her waist, the other gripping her wrist. The shadows rush us, slashing at my back. Each cut burns like acid, but I don’t loosen my grip.
“You don’t belong to this,” I say into her ear, my voice rough.
She fights harder, clawing at my arms. Magic sparks between us—hers, defensive; mine, possessive.
“You don’t get to break here,” I growl, shaking her once. “We survive. That’s the deal.”
The altar cracks—a sound like bones snapping. Nova screams, back arching as whatever link the field had formed tries to re-establish. Her eyes roll back, body seizing.
I take the hit. All of it—her magic, the field’s response, the shadows’ claws. Blood runs down my back, my arms. I don’t care.
“Look at me,” I order, forcing her chin up.
Her eyes focus for half a second—confused, distant. Then they clear.
“Dane?”
