“You can’t save everyone.”
“I know.” The words catch. “But I had to try.”
I pull her into my arms. She sags against me—finally letting the exhaustion show, finally allowing herself to be weak.
“You did enough.” My lips brush her hair. “You did more than enough.”
“It’s not over.” She pulls back. Meets my gaze. “The Matron.”
“I know.”
The ritual is still building. It’s in my bones now—the power gathering, the pressure increasing. When it releases, everything within the Vale’s boundaries will be consumed.
Unless we stop her.
“Ready?” Imara asks.
I take her hand. Lace our fingers. Her grip is strong despite her injuries. Mine is the same.
“As I’ll ever be.”
We turn toward the Sanctum’s heart. Toward the Matron. Toward the final battle that will determine everything.
The blood-wards scream around us. The walls shake. The floor cracks.
We walk forward anyway.
FORTY-FIVE
IMARA
The Sanctum screams.
Not a metaphor—an actual sound, rising from the walls, the floors, the very stone beneath our feet. Two centuries of accumulated death thrashing against its bonds as the ritual builds toward release. The blood-wards pulse erratically, crimson light strobing through corridors that have never known darkness.
“The training halls.” I pull Kharvek down a side passage, away from the main evacuation route. “The Red Children—they keep them in the eastern wing.”
“Red Children?”
“Young stock. Children in training for various roles.” My voice catches. “If we don’t get them out?—”
He doesn’t need me to finish. His hand tightens on mine, and we run.
The Sanctum’s eastern wing is chaos. Attendants sprint past us without a second glance, too focused on their own survival to notice the enemies in their midst. Ceiling tiles crack and fall. The floor buckles in places where the wards have failed completely, revealing the bone-channels beneath.
I count doorways. Third junction, left turn, second corridor. The path burned into my memory from years of walking it—checking on the children, pretending to assess their potential, secretly hoping I might find a way to save even one.
Now I have to save all of them.
The training halldoors are sealed.
Ward-locks glow angry red across the frame, activated automatically when the Sanctum began its collapse. Standard protocol—contain valuable assets during emergencies. Don’t let them escape. Don’t let them choose.
I press my palm to the lock. Feel the magic resist me, recognize me, hesitate.
“Imara.” Kharvek’s voice is tight. He’s positioned himself between me and the corridor, body coiled and ready, watching for threats. “We don’t have time.”
“I need thirty seconds.”
