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I force my gaze downward, sickened by the deep gash that refuses to close, an open wound that might as well be an open door to death. When I try to lift my head, the world rocks, a cruel mockery of the hope I once held.

Shapes coalesce in front of me. Callan is there, kneeling at my side, his face etched with a rare and terrifying panic.

Finn’s voice cuts through the fog that clouds my thoughts, deliberate and sharp, each word weighted with urgency. “A man named Indech followed us in. The defensive barrier at the entrance failed to hold.” The fury in his voice is palpable, a seething anger that intensifies as he continues.

“The weapon responsible for that—he called it a Void Dagger. He said it severs magic,” Finn continues, his voice tightening as though the words themselves burn. “Callan, his intent was never to end her life but to claim her. Take her from here now. I believe he’s alive... and he willnae be far behind.”

Callan falters, his face a conflicted mask of understanding and hesitation as he weighs Finn’s warning. “Finn... please tell me ye aren’t goin’ through with this.”

“We both understood the cost, Cal.”

A metallic groan roars to life from somewhere I can’t see, followed by a violent shuddering. The sound reverberates through the air, sharp and sudden, but I can’t place its source.

Callan curses under his breath before tearing his shirt off. His calloused hands work with raw desperation, turning the fabric into a makeshift bandage. He presses it against my wound, and I bite back a cry as fire shoots through my leg. His lips move, urgency dripping from every word, but I can’t make sense of them. They’re muffled, garbled—like hearing through water.

“Triona…” Callan’s voice finally breaks through, hoarse and desperate.

“Cal…” My voice is a ghost, trembling and faint. “It was so much… it was so wrong. All of it…”

My mind claws for coherence, but panic surges in my chest, drowning out reason. “Finn—” I try to finish, but my words crumble as I look around frantically.

Where is he?

The absence of him at my side is deeply troubling. I can hear his voice cutting through the chaos like a lifeline, but it’s not enough. I push weakly against Callan’s hands, my limbs shaking with the effort to move, to stand, to find him.

“Where is he?” I croak, the words a desperate plea.

“Stop, Tri!” Callan snaps, gripping my shoulders to still me. “Ye’re losin’ blood—ye cannae move!” But his words barely register. I claw at the dirt, searching wildly, my eyes darting through the haze.

Then—there, I see him. Finn. On the wrong side of the gate.

“Finn.” The whisper escapes my lips, the world narrowing to the scene before me.

Something primal rips from my throat, a sound born of sheer terror and disbelief. My limbs move of their own accord, feebly pushing Callan away with the desperation of a dying woman. I collapse forward, barely catching myself before my face hits the ground.

My arms shake with the effort to push myself up and drag myself toward the gate. My leg screams in protest. The pain is unbearable, a fire that swallows everything, but it doesn’t matter. Not now. My breath comes in frantic, shallow bursts as I claw at the dirt beneath me, inching closer to him.

“Tri, stop.” Callan’s command pierces the air, but it’s distant, far away, a flicker of sound muted by the abyss that’s swallowing me whole.

I reach the gate, my fingers trembling as I curl around the cold metal and pull myself up. I press against it, my chest heaving as my vision sways. I claw at the bars, helplessly trying to find any weakness, any way through—but the gate stands solid, unyielding.

“No,” I whisper, the word barely audible, my breath rattling in my chest. “No, no, this can’t be...”

Behind me, Callan attempts to remove me, but I muster as much effort as I can to elbow him in the sternum, which seems to halt his efforts. “Ye stubborn wee brat.” He rasps out past his pain as his voice cracks with something close to panic.

I don’t care. Nothing matters anymore but getting to Finn.

“Finn…” The whisper escapes me like a prayer, a final breath of hope.

He looks up, and I see it. His face is streaked with blood and dirt. His knuckles are raw and bleeding. But it’s his eyes that stop my heart—they’re empty, hollow with something I can’t name.

“Mo chridhe,” His voice is softer than the world I’m trapped in. “You have to listen to me.”

I can’t breathe. His words echo, a faint echo of something worse than death.

“What happened?” I moan, the question a plea, a sob in disguise. My chest cracks open with the weight of it. “Finn, why...”

Finn’s hands grip the wrought iron bars of the gate, his knuckles white from the strain.