Fenris moved before the echo of Edward's scream had faded.
She rushed to him as his eyes rolled back. He collapsed. She caught him before he hit the ground. His body was a dead weight.
He was unnervingly still. His breathing was shallow, and the only trace of the storm inside him was the faint, chaotic purple energy flickering under his skin.
The dungeon, its genesis-engine now consumed, began to stabilize and die. The pulsating walls receded. Hardening back into the stone and plaster of the Duke estate.
The monstrous stalactites withdrew, reshaping into the broken remains of the grand chandelier. Reality was returning. Leaving behind a ruined, broken shell.
Fenris didn't care. Her world had shrunk to the unconscious, fragile boy in her arms. Her primal, pack-based instincts, a storm of battle-fury moments before, now coalesced. A single, overwhelming imperative. Protect the alpha.
