Page 112

Time to make it right.

Time to earn her forgiveness.

But then the doors burst open.

Veyr returned.

And this time, he wasn't silent.

His shirt was half-buttoned, his chest heaving with barely restrained rage. Blood still stained his knuckles from the splintered doorframe at the Oracle's cottage.

Hagan stood slowly.

Veyr launched across the room, fists flying. The first blow caught Hagan across the jaw, sharp and clean. His head snapped sideways, and he staggered, tasting copper. But he didn't block the second hit.

He didn't want to.

The next punch landed in his ribs—followed by another to his gut. Each one dug deep, cutting through his breath, through his guilt.

And then he fought back.

They crashed into one another like storm and fire, all control abandoned. No claws. No shifting. Just knuckles, elbows, knees. Human fury.

Years of brotherhood splintered in bone.

Veyr's rage was surgical. Focused. Every strike was a punishment. Every hit landed with the weight of all the moments he'd stayed silent—for Hagan. For the prophecy. For Seren.

"You said you'd protect her!" Veyr roared, slamming his fist into Hagan's ribs. "You promised!"

"I know!" Hagan gasped, blocking, swinging blindly.

"You let her touch you—while Seren waited for you—trusted you—" Veyr's voice broke, and he drove his shoulder into Hagan's chest, knocking him against the stone pillar.

Hagan snarled, catching Veyr in the side with a brutal uppercut.

"I didn't mean to—!"

"But you did!" Veyr bellowed, slamming Hagan's head against the wood with a crack. "You chose her. Over everything."

They hit the floor hard, wrestling through broken chairs and shattered dishes. Blood spattered across the flagstones—most of it Hagan's, but not all.

Hagan's collarbone snapped with a sickening pop as Veyr wrenched his arm in a brutal twist.

He didn't scream.

He welcomed it. He deserved the pain.

His shoulder dislocated next. He slumped, chest heaving, sweat and blood mixing at his temple.

Veyr stood over him, panting, his face battered and split at the lip. His fists trembled.

"Why?" he rasped. "Why would you do this to her? After everything?"

Hagan didn't lift his head. He didn't defend himself.

He just knelt there in the wreckage—his body broken; his soul gutted.

His voice was hollow.