“It is,” he snaps. “Your people hit three borders.”
Lucian tilts his head.
“Yes,” he agrees. “But not to break in.”
The words hang.
“To destabilize,” he continues, “to apply pressure, to accelerate what was already weakening.”
The orb flares violently.
Light erupts outward in a red white surge that forces all of us to shield our eyes instinctively, and the dungeon walls vibrate as if something deep beneath the packhouse just shifted its weight.
Above us, wolves cry out again.
“South quadrant just had a pulse,” someone shouts through the link. “It felt like a heartbeat under the ground.”
My breath catches.
A heartbeat.
The land feels alive under my feet.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Atticus looks at me slowly, his eyes dark with understanding he does not want.
“You are tied
