Una was their mother.
The stakes just got higher. The twins were Una’s children. She was paying the highest price of command, sending her own blood to the front.
I pushed off the wall, joining the group by the exit.
Selene looked up. The bond between us flared—a steady, grounding wire snapping taut as our magic answered each other. Her shoulders dropped a fraction.
“We’re set,” Dane said, his voice echoing in the quiet atrium.
I held Selene’s gaze, ignoring the others. “Once you are in that shaft, you don’t stop. No matter what you hear happening below. You keep climbing.”
“I know,” she said.
Goran turned to the blast door. He gripped the iron wheel and heaved. Deep inside the stone, colossal tumblers shifted with a guttural scrape that vibrated through the floor. The metal swung outward, exhaling the damp, rotting breath of the storm drains.
Selene stepped up beside me. She ignored the open tunnel, keeping her eyesfixed on mine.
“Ready?” she asked.
The magic hummed between us, a quiet, steady rhythm. Keeping her alive was the only objective left.
“Ready,” I said.
I moved past her to take the point, pushing through the threshold. The iron bulkhead slammed shut behind us, cutting the light and leaving us in the pitch.
THIRTY-FIVE
Selene
The smell hit us first—a thick, cloying stench of wet fur, old rot, and the chemical tang of city runoff. We walked through the intestines of Ravenholt.
The storm drains were narrow, slick with algae, and freezing. The water rushed past our ankles, black and oily, soaking through my boots in seconds.
Torvin and Karys took the lead, moving with practiced efficiency. They cracked hooded chemical sticks, casting a dull, greenish glow—just enough to reveal the slick stones underfoot while keeping the tunnel ahead shrouded.
The silence pressed against us. Torvin, usually the first to break the tension, kept his focus entirely on the path ahead. His hunched shoulders confirmed the gravity of the task. We were descending into the city’s bowels to stop a massacre.
I followed close behind, steadying myself against the damp brick wall. Behind me, the heavy tread of Goran and Dane echoed against the stone, followed by the phantom-light step of Riven.
The cold air biting at my skin only made the residual heat of lastnight burn hotter. Riven’s touch. The way the shadows had curled around us, binding us together. It was an absolute alignment.
A terrifying physical resonance still echoed deep in my chest, lingering long after we pulled apart. I had spent my whole life carrying a hollow ache, and for a few hours hidden from the world, something had finally slotted into place.
I didn’t know what to call it. I didn’t have a name for the way my magic had reached for his, or the way his heart had seemed to beat against my own spine.
But the intensity of it made my step falter. It was too big. Too vast to carry into a fight. If I thought about what that meant—that I might never feel that wholeness again if we failed—I would freeze.
I forced the memory down. I boxed it up and buried it deep, right next to the grief for Eamon.
Focus, I told myself. Survive first. Figure it out later.
My magic pushed against my skin, agitated by the suffocating weight of the tunnel. The Light inside me wanted to flare, to tear through the oppressive dark. It took every ounce of the control Riven had taught me to keep it leashed, to hold the light beneath the surface.
Calm, I thought. Be calm.
It felt like we’d been walking for hours when Karys suddenly threw her arm out, stopping Torvin mid-step.
“Hold,” she hissed.
