Brent’s POV
The Vault was shaking. I could feel it through the stone beneath my feet, a low, rumbling pulse like a heartbeat that didn’t belong to any of us. The air was tight, charged, like a storm waiting to break.
And it smelled wrong.
Magic, yes—but more than that. Grief. Burnt blood. Old power, curling through the air like smoke through a chimney.
Caitlyn lay in the center of the chamber, completely still. The glow in her skin had faded to a flicker. She was pale, worn thin by whatever that Trial of Blood had taken from her. But she was breathing. Barely. Her little fox doll was still clutched in her arms like she knew the world wasn’t done trying to take something from her.
And the Vault—whatever it was, whatever it had become—wasn't satisfied.
I could feel its hunger now. Not
