The battlefield was a blur of chaos, but my eyes were fixed on one thing—the sword that pierced through Emily's throat. I didn't move. I couldn't. My body went numb as Elira descended from the sky like a spirit of vengeance. Her white gown fluttered in the blood-soaked wind, untouched, radiant.
How? How the hell was she alive?
I staggered backward, my breath hitching. My plan—years of manipulation, strategy, pretending to serve Max while feeding Asher crumbs of loyalty—it was all crumbling. Max was on the ground, tied like an animal, struggling with a missing wrist. Emily? Gone. And Elira, the only one who could ruin everything, stood tall and alive.
No. No. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
I turned, slowly at first, then broke into a run. I didn't care where. I just needed to disappear. I would gather strength, hide, and strike when the time was right. Again. I always survived.
But then the air shifted. A thick wind curled around me, heavy with power. I froze.
