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“Nay,” Broderick interjected harshly, his voice leaving no room for compromise. “Even if I wasnae with Davina, I wouldnae be with Veronique. I care for her like a sister, but her behavior has pushed that relationship tae its breakin’ point. If she becomes immortal, she will never stop chasing me. And she will continue tae try to kill Davina.”

Veronique’s face twisted with fury. “Then let one of you transform me!” she bellowed, turning defiantly toward the Elders.

Ammon shook his head slowly, his tone unyielding. “We have no desire to transform you. Your fate stands with two choices: death or the Army of Light.”

Enraged, Veronique lunged at Davina, her fingers curled into claws.

Broderick moved faster than thought, stepping between them and grabbing Veronique by the arms. “Enough!”

But before he could restrain her further, Rasheed leapt from the dais, his movements a blur. His fangs sank into Veronique’s neck, and she let out a strangled cry.

The room fell silent as Rasheed fed, his eyes glowing with silver, sinister light. When he pulled away, blood dripped from his mouth, and he let Veronique’s body drop to the floor, her blood disappearing in the crimson of the carpet as she releaseda death rattle.

“She was not going to stop,” Rasheed remarked quietly, wiping his chin with a kerchief offered by a nearby guard. “You were right to refuse her.”

Davina turned away, horrified. She buried her face in her hands, trembling.

Broderick gathered her into his arms, murmuring gentle reassurances even as Rasheed reclaimed his position at the dais.

With a measured voice that belied the chaos moments before, Rasheed continued, “Now, if the cure is what you seek, Davina, then you must face a member of the Army of Light.”

He gestured toward a door between two towering columns.

Broderick lifted Davina into his arms, her body weak and trembling, and carried her toward the door. Two guards followed, their heavy footsteps echoing behind them.

The door opened, and a new fate awaited.

Broderick carried Davina into the dimly lit chamber, cradling her fragile frame as though she might shatter from the barest jolt. The cold pressed in from the damp stone walls, which seemed to weep with age, their slick surfaces catching the weak glow of scattered braziers. The flames licked at the gloom but did little to warm the air. His boots fell in muffled echoes against the floor as he approached the chair at the chamber’s center—the same chair he had sat in thirty years past, when his fate had been sealed.

With infinite care, he lowered Davina into the chair. Her skin burned beneath his fingers, fevered and slick with sweat. He brushed a damp strand of hair from her brow, his knuckles lingering as though touch alone could anchor her to life. Shetrembled violently, her body wracked by the cruel grip of the blood thrall. Broderick settled beside her, his lips pressed to her fingers, his gaze fixed on the far door. The one from which the Army of Light would send their judgment.

A shift of leather broke the taut silence. One of the Vamsyrian guards stepped forward, nodding toward the exit. “You must leave, Vamsyrian. The blood slave must face this trial alone.”

Broderick didn’t spare him a glance. “I stay,” he said, his voice iron-clad, brooking no argument.

The guard faltered, uncertain, looking to his companion for guidance. The second guard gave a shrug, and without further challenge, both melted back into the chamber’s shadows, their presence lingering but silent.

Broderick’s attention never wavered. His thumb brushed gently along Davina’s knuckles, a quiet reassurance.

Time stretched thin. The chamber held its breath, the stillness broken only by Davina’s ragged, labored breathing. Then, with a low, grinding scrape, the bolt on the far door slid free. Davina flinched at the sound, her fingers clawing the chair’s armrest as her eyes widened.

The heavy door yawned open, revealing a figure cloaked in shadow. Frail and stooped, silver hair spilled from beneath the figure’s hood, catching the light like threads of moonlight. The door thudded closed behind her, and the bolt slammed home, sealing them in.

Slowly, the cloaked woman turned, her movements laden with the weight of years. Hands clasped before her, she lifted her chin, and as the hood fell away, pale silver hair framed a face etched deep with sorrow and time.

Her wide, astonished gaze locked onto Broderick’s.

His breath caught in his chest.

Recognition flared like a spark in the dark.

She fell to her knees with a gasp, her voice cracking with anguish as she cried out, “Father, why do you curse me so!” Her trembling hands clasped before her in supplication, as though prayer might undo the torment fate had woven around her.

Broderick flexed his jaw. The face before him was older, carved by time and sorrow, but unmistakably hers. He stepped closer, his voice roughened by disbelief and memory. “Evangeline?”

Her head lifted, silver hair framing a face once trusted. “Hello, Broderick,” she whispered, her voice splintering. “You… You haven’t aged a day.”

From the chair, Davina’s weak voice cut through the heavy air, frayed but clear. “Your wife?” she asked, her words raw with both surprise and pain. “You said she died the day your family was slaughtered.”