Green light.
Not her magic. Someone else’s, a magic that’s ancient and terrible andfamiliar, though I can’t quite remember why.
The sky tears open above us, and green fire pours down.
What the?—
It hits me. Burning, engulfing flame, like every cell in my body is being unmade and remade simultaneously. The wrongness inside mescreams, this high-pitched keening soundthat sounds like it came straight from hell rather than my throat, and I feel it fighting. Feel the demon thing trying to hold on.
The fire burns hotter.
I can’t see Regina anymore. Can’t see anything except the wall of green completely surrounding me.
And then…
I wake up.
I actually fucking wake up this time.
And I wake up to reality instead of the half-conscious drift of that cold, dark place or the nightmare loop that starts over every time I think it’s finally done.
It’s real consciousness, and I have a body that responds to my commands, shaky as the movements are. I’m breathing, shaking, the whole works.
It takes me a second to process that. My brain feels like it’s full of smoke. Everything hurts in that dull, background way that means I’ve been hurt worse recently and this is just the echo.
I open my eyes and see a stone ceiling carved with symbols I don’t recognize, but not the kind Regina uses. These are older and weirder and they make my eyes itch. The light is dim and blueish, coming from somewhere I can’t see.
I turn my head, which turns out to be a bad fucking idea. The room spins enthusiastically.
When it settles, I can make out more details. Shelves lined with jars. More symbols carved into basically every surface. And a stone table I’m currently lying on, which has channels cut into it.
This looks like a sacrificial altar.
What the fuck?
I try to sit up, which my body also informs me is a terrible idea.
“Killian?” A familiar voice comes from somewhere nearby, but my neck hurts too bad to turn right away and my brain’s still foggy as shit. “Fuck, Killian, don’t?—“
Rowan materializes beside me, hands hovering like he wants to help but isn’t sure if he should touch me. He looks exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes, shirt wrinkled, that expression he gets when he’s trying really hard not to freak out.
“You’re awake,” he says like he can’t quite believe it. “And human.”
“Debatable.” My voice comes out like gravel. When did I last talk? When did I last do anything except run through those woods and?—
The memory slams into me.
The meadow. The coven and the werewolf, fighting that thing to keep it at bay while my pack tried to protect Regina. Feeling my strength give out, knowing I was going to die, hoping that at least my death would buy them time to get her somewhere safe.
And then?—
I reach for my shoulder. My fingers find the wound before I can stop them.
It’s still there. Healed over, mostly, but the scar tissue is raised and angry. I feel it even through the bandage.
“Don’t touch it,” Rowan says quickly. “Professor Villeneuve said?—”
“Where is she?”
