Adrian stood frozen, his mind blank as he looked at the two young women before him.
He had expected something strange, yes—but this… this was beyond his hopes. If Annabelle and now Elana had ties to witches, at least he could've drawn from the memories buried within him—those old fragments that still whispered about their ways, their curses, their trials. He could have guided them. Protected them.
But to think they were connected to *Nytharos*…
His breath caught.
Elana's trembling voice cut through the silence. "Sir… am I going to turn evil?"
There wasn't a hint of jest—only fear. A fear so raw that even Annabelle fell quiet.
It would be a lie to say Annabelle hadn't thought about it herself. What she'd done back in Skulth's base still lingered in her mind—the screams, the blood, the inhuman calm that had washed over her while she killed. She didn't regret it. But she feared it.
She feared waking up one day as something unrecognizable. Something that *wasn't her.*
