Dahlia, whose shields were flickering. Dahlia, who was pale and trembling and had been pouring everything into defense. Dahlia, who wasn’t watching her back because she trusted someone else to cover her.
The construct raised crystalline arms, green light blazing in its hollow sockets.
Dahlia didn’t see it.
Avine didn’t think. Didn’t calculate. Didn’t consider the cost.
She threw herself between Dahlia and the construct and reached for power she’d kept locked away her entire adult life.
The magicthat answered wasn’t the controlled, careful magic she’d practiced for twenty years.
This was raw. Primal. Sea-deep and storm-vast and utterly, terrifyingly unlimited.
It erupted from her in a wave of blue-white light. The construct didn’t shatter—it VAPORIZED. Salt particles scattered into mist that hung in the air like glitter.
But she couldn’t stop.
The power kept pouring through her, too much, too fast, tearing through channels that weren’t built for this kind of flow. She heard screaming—hers, maybe—as her vision whited out.
Too much. I can’t—I can’t control?—
Distantly, she felt the other constructs falling. Felt her magic ripping through them, destroying every hostile presence in the inn. Felt the wards ROARING back to life, stronger than ever, reinforced by the full, devastating force of what she’d unleashed.
Then the world tilted.
Blood—hot and copper-tasting—poured from her nose. Her ears. The corners of her eyes.
Oh. That’s bad.
Her knees buckled.
The last thing she heard before darkness claimed her was a howl—anguished and terrified and soul-deep. Theo’s howl. Calling her name.
She wanted to answer.
She couldn’t remember how.
Darkness.
Not the peaceful darkness of sleep. This was heavy. Pressing. A weight that pinned her to the bottom of herself while her body fought for survival.
Wake up.
She couldn’t.
You have to wake up. He’s calling you.
The howl echoed through the void—distant, desperate, impossible to ignore. Theo. Still calling. Still waiting.
I’m trying. I’m TRYING.
Light flickered somewhere far away. Faint. Fragile. A lifeline thrown into the black.
She reached for it.
Hands.Voices. Light that stabbed her eyelids.
“—magical exhaustion?—”
