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SERA

I feel it slithering through the stone walls, coiling around my heart, pressing against my throat. The dark elves have been watching me differently—some with hunger, some with fear, others with something worse.

The rumors of a siren are spreading.

They shouldn’t be.

I haven’t sung. Not since that night. Not since the guard died screaming at my feet.

I clutch my arms to keep from shaking. I should run. But I don’t. I already know the truth—there is nowhere to go.

The shadows shift. He’s here.

Veylan moves through the corridor with purpose, his steps measured, his silver gaze dark. His presence swallows the space, sucking the air from the halls. He hasn’t come to see me in days. Not since…

I shake my head, trying not to recall those memories of that night.

His gaze locks onto mine, and I don’t recognize the look in his eyes. Not anger. Not desire. Something worse.

Before I can react, his fingers snatch my wrist, iron-tight and unyielding. I don’t get a chance to resist. He yanks me forward, dragging me down the corridor.

"Where—" I choke on the words. "What are you doing?"

He doesn’t answer.

The fortress moves around us in a blur, the torches flickering against obsidian walls, the whispers of soldiers echoing in the halls. No one stops him. No one dares.

Veylan’s grip is unrelenting, his silence dangerous.

We reach the war chamber.

The heavy doors swing open, and then he’s throwing me inside, slamming them shut behind him.

The room is vast—maps sprawled across a long oak table, daggers and swords embedded into its surface. The scent of steel lingers, mixing with the lingering tension between us.

He stands there for a moment, staring at me.

Then he speaks.

“I have to kill you.”

The words should terrify me.

They don’t.

I laugh. A sharp, humorless sound that rattles in my throat.

"You should have done it a long time ago."

His jaw tightens.

I step forward. "So do it, Dreadlord. If that's what you brought me here for, get it over with."

Something dark flickers in his gaze.

I press on. Daring him.

"You want me dead? Or do you want me to suffer?"

A muscle in his jaw twitches. He doesn’t move.

That’s when I know.

He won’t do it.

He can’t.

Something inside me tightens, an ache I don’t understand. A thrill I should not feel.

Veylan exhales sharply, like I’ve somehow cut him without touching him. His voice, when it comes, is raw. Too raw.

“You don’t understand what you are.”

My heart clenches in pain. “Then tell me.”

His fingers flex at his sides, like he’s debating breaking something. Me. Himself. This moment.

Then he steps forward, closing the distance between us.

“You are dangerous.”

He lifts a hand, almost touching my throat—almost. But he stops himself.

“Hazeran is watching. He will not let this continue.”

Something cold spreads in my stomach.

“You mean he won’t let you continue.”

His lips curl, but there’s no amusement. “You think this is about me?”

I swallow, my pulse hammering in my throat. “Isn’t it?”

He shakes his head. His gaze is not the gaze of a conqueror. It is something worse.

“He’s already sent someone.”

The blood in my veins turns to ice.

“What?”

His fingers graze the hilt of his dagger, tension thrumming through his frame. “I dealt with it.”

That should reassure me. It doesn’t.

It means this is not over.

Hazeran will try again.

And next time, Veylan might not be there to stop it.

A different kind of fear grips me. Not of dying. But of what I will do to survive.

Veylan watches me for a long moment, as if he knows exactly what I am thinking.

He doesn’t say anything when he finally steps back, moving toward the door.

But before he leaves, he murmurs something so low I almost don’t hear it.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

Then he is gone.

I stand there, staring at the door, my hands clenched into fists.

I should be afraid. I should want to run.

Instead, I turn toward the map-covered table.

I reach for one of the daggers embedded in the wood.

I tighten my hold on the hilt.

If they are going to hunt me, then I need to be ready.