POV: Alpha Jackson Reynolds
The transition from the grotto’s sanctuary back into the Iron-Mist Valley was like stepping into a furnace filled with ground glass. The moment we breached the waterfall, the humid, moss-scented air was replaced by the choking stench of sulfur and the oily residue of Gretchen Stinkford’s lingering malice.
"Diamond formation!" I barked, my voice muffled by the thick, gray haze. "Vane, lead! Amethyst, Jumanah, stay in the pocket. Christopher, eyes up!"
We moved with a mechanical, lethal efficiency. Vane Lowe was a shadow of Star-Iron and silver at the front, her blades drawn and held low. Behind her, Amethyst and the white witch Jumanah were huddled together, their Aegis-Thread cloaks shimmering as they struggled to mask the radiating heat of Amethyst’s royal b
