KAEL'S POV
The first thing I tasted was blood. Not on my tongue—in the air.
Iron-thick and hot, coating my throat as I came to, flat on my back beneath a broken moon.
The stone beneath me pulsed with a deep, throbbing magic. Not mine. Not Ayla's. Something older. Hungrier.
I sat up too fast and the world tilted sideways. Firelight flickered through the shattered remains of the temple, casting long shadows across the bodies. Some breathing. Some not. Smoke rolled through the wreckage in thick curls, and I caught the scent of her.
Ayla.
I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the stab of pain in my side. My ribs had cracked again. I could feel the shifting when I moved. It didn't matter. None of it mattered.
She stood at the far end of the circle—or what used to be a circle. The ceremonial stones were cracked, half-buried in ash. Her silhouette wavered in the haze, blood on her hands, her dress torn, her eyes silvered with magic she hadn't meant to summon.
