The sky pulsed like a wounded star.
Caleb's body hovered in the air, caught in a tether of obsidian light extending from Rowan's palm. Rowan—no, the thing wearing his face—smiled with a mouth too wide, teeth too many. His voice was a chorus of horror and history.
"One will fall," the Forgotten One whispered. "Choose, daughter of the moon… or I will."
"Let him go!" Aria's voice cracked like fire against the storm above.
She didn't move. Couldn't. Every part of her wanted to lunge forward, to tear the god's grip from Caleb's throat—but the mark on her chest burned, pulsing with ancient, binding power. One wrong step, and she'd collapse.
Caleb's feet dangled inches above the ground, his fingers clawing at the invisible noose. Solene raised her hands, murmuring incantations in the lost tongue of the Circle. But the magic bent around Rowan like he was a black hole, eating light and spell alike.
"Elena—" Aria gasped.
