THE CONCRETE FLOOR of the parking garage still vibrated with the ghost of the banishment—a low-frequency hum that seemed to sync with the frantic, jagged beat of Mailah's heart.
She watched the taillights of the SUV as the red glow reflected off the puddles of oil and violet ichor. Grayson was already inside the vehicle, sitting in the far corner of the back seat like a king who had been mildly inconvenienced by a peasant's outburst.
Lucson stood beside Mailah, his shadow long and sharp under the buzzing fluorescent lights. He didn't look at her immediately; his gaze was fixed on the space where Seryn had been unmade.
He looked weary—not the physical exhaustion of a man, but the soul-deep fatigue of an immortal who had just watched history repeat itself in the cruelest way possible.
"We aren't going back home yet," Lucson said quietly, his voice cutting through the ringing in Mailah's ears.
