Natalie~
The teleportation pulled at my bones like invisible threads being yanked by unseen hands. The dungeon walls dissolved into pure light, and in the next breath, we landed—hard.
I stumbled forward, my shoes meeting the polished wooden floor of Michael Blackthorn's living room. The shift in atmosphere was jarring—no longer the cold, metallic scent of damp stone and rotting secrets, but the warm musk of leather, dust, and fireplace embers.
Griffin dropped to his knees beside me, chest heaving, face as pale as ash.
"Well…" he panted, offering me a crooked, exhausted smile. "That was... exhilarating."
I didn't laugh. I didn't smile. My hand was still clenched in Zane's. His grip didn't loosen, and neither did mine.
