The ruin's chamber was quiet, save for the faint groan of stone above the abyss. The council fire behind them sputtered out, voices dimming into restless murmurs, but I felt her hand still pressed to my Scar. Trembling—not from weakness, but from holding back something vast and merciless.
I guided Dahlia into the side passage, where the air was cooler, laced with ash and echoes. She leaned against the wall, breath uneven, her eyes glowing faint silver even in shadow.
"It feels like a second heart," she whispered, voice jagged. "Not mine. Not yours. Something waiting. Beating. Hungry. If I stop breathing, it will still beat."
I reached for her, claw and flesh together, thumb brushing the faint lines of her pulse. "Then let me be the anchor. If it drags, it drags us both—but I'll hold you."
Her eyes snapped to mine, wet with defiance. "And what if anchoring me is only chaining you tighter to him? Damon, you can't bind me without binding yourself."
