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We stare at each other over the decaying spine of this war room, and the Void seems to lean in. He’s always been the blade I couldn’t bend. But even he knows—this realm has rules, and I’m the one whorewritesthem.

Malachi breaks the silence.

“How much has she eaten?”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“She’s been here fourteen days,” he says coolly. “Alistair’s brought meals. But how much is she actually consuming? Whatkindof nourishment is she accepting from the Void?”

I exhale slowly. “You think she’s feeding it back.”

“She’s a Binder. That power doesn’t rest. If she’s channeling or containing something, and it’s influencing the wyrms’ behavior—”

“Then the northern rim is just the beginning,” Vaelrik finishes, rubbing a hand down his jaw, suddenly not looking like he wants to punch something. “Shit.”

“She hasn’t stepped outside her room,” I remind them, but even I can feel the hollowness in the words. “She’s notdoinganything.”

Malachi lifts his gaze, dark and incisive. “That’s exactly what worries me.”

And then—like it was summoned, like the Void itself is listening to every word we say—there’s a sound.

Distant.

Buthers.

A hum.

Not musical. Not even intentional. More like the sound of breath moving through the old language. A chord struck without strings. The walls ripple. Not visibly. But I feel it in the pit of my teeth, behind my eyes.

Malachi straightens.

Vaelrik is already moving toward the door.

“No,” I snap. “Letme.”

They pause, watching me with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

I offer them the smile I wear for war.

“Don’t worry,” I say softly, already turning away. “If she’s decided to step into the Void, I’ll be the one to greet her.”

Layla

I think the Void is inside me now. It’s not just the dark. It’sthisdark—dense, muffled, always watching. Every surface feels damp with something not quite alive. The walls breathe in shallow gasps when I sleep, if I sleep. Which I haven’t. Not really. Not in a way that matters.

Fourteen days of shadows, sour rot, and Severin’s voice leaking through the cracks in my spine like a spell I didn’t mean to learn.

I didn’t come here for him. Not for any of them.

I came because Luna made the mistake of trusting a monster. And I made the bigger one—trading myself to Severin to spare her. Him, and his fucking brothers. One for seven. Fair deal, right?

Now I’m in this mansion made of nightmares and temptation, rotting in velvet. And I know exactly what they want from me. I’m not naïve. They think if they wait long enough, if they circle just wide enough, I’ll break down and crawl toward whichever one looks at me like he already owns my mouth.

They’re wrong.

So I’ve stayed here. Inside this room stitched from haunted furniture and wilting glamour. The bed’s too soft. The windows show nothing. Sometimes they showthings—flickers of people I’ve never met, places that don’t exist. The mirror won’t reflect unless I’m angry. I think the walls whisper about me when I sleep.

Fine.