Chapter 23 – Damian's POV
The morning sun bled through the blinds, painting everything in soft gold. It should've felt calm. Instead, the air in the suite was thick—like the pause before an explosion.
I'd been pacing for fifteen minutes, boots digging into the rug Devon loved too much to replace. He was sitting on the armrest, quiet as a priest, fingers pressed together like he could meditate away the problem breathing under our roof.
Scarlet.
The storm in crimson. The blind girl who shouldn't be here. The one who'd burned the throne, spoken in tongues, and made me feel things I shouldn't.
I hated it.
Hated her.
Hated the way she tilted this world off its axis.
"She's a liability," I muttered, not for the first time. My voice cut through the silence like a blade. "A walking apocalypse wrapped in schoolgirl plaid. You all see it."
Devon's jaw ticked, but he didn't answer. Typical. The guy bottled emotions like perfume—quiet, sweet-smelling, but deadly if it spilled.
The suite door clicked. Dexter strolled in like chaos wearing a grin, flipping his key ring around his finger.
"Well," he said cheerfully. "Hope everyone had their breakfast, because you're about to choke."
I stopped pacing. "What did you do now?"
"Me? Nothing." He plopped onto the couch, legs wide, arms sprawled like a king of nonsense. "But our favorite Dragon Whisperer™? She's planning a field trip."
Draven looked up from where he stood by the window, arms crossed like marble come to life. His gaze sharpened. "Explain."
Dexter tilted his head back with a sigh. "Syraen paid her a little bedtime visit. And guess who got front-row tickets to the dragon channel? Yours truly."
My stomach knotted. "You spied on her."
"Not intentionally." He tapped his temple. "Sightline bleed. She's loud when she's talking to her imaginary friend."
"Not imaginary," Devon said softly. His voice had an edge.
"Whatever," my wolf snapped. "What did you see?"
Dexter's grin dimmed—just slightly, which was how I knew he wasn't screwing around. "She's got a deadline. Full moon. If she doesn't find a scale—Syraen's scale—she stays blind. Forever."
"That's not our problem," I said instantly.
"Wrong," Dexter said, sitting up. "Because the scale? It's tucked away in Crescent Hollow's catacombs."
For a beat, no one spoke.
Devon broke the silence first, his voice like a crack in glass. "The catacombs are sealed."
"They were," Dexter said. "Key word: were."
My hands curled into fists. "You're saying she plans to break into the most forbidden part of this school, where the ground literally hums with dead magic, because some overgrown lizard told her to?"
"Dragon," Dexter corrected lightly.
"I don't care if it's a fire-breathing peacock," I snarled. "She's going to wake things that should stay buried."
Devon's aura pulsed sharp, threads of Fae magic brushing the air like static. "She doesn't have a choice."
"There's always a choice," I shot back. "And hers is turning into the monster those scrolls warned us about."
Dexter's grin returned, but it was brittle now. "Funny you bring that up."
Something cold slithered down my spine. "Don't."
"Oh, I will." Dexter leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You remember the myth, don't you? 'When flames and fangs bow to one girl's will, the seal will fracture, and the sky will bleed.' Ring any bells?"
The words landed like a punch. I'd read them once, inked in a language no one should know anymore. A story for scaring rookies. A bedtime threat. Except my gut told me it wasn't a story at all.
"That's coincidence," I said, but my voice lacked heat now.
"No," Draven said quietly.
We all turned. He hadn't moved, but the weight in his tone froze me harder than any ice he could summon.
"She spoke Valyrian at the seal," he said. "And I understood every word."
Time stopped.
Devon straightened slowly, disbelief flickering across his face. Dexter blinked, for once without a joke ready.
My throat worked. "You—what?"
"I learned it," Draven continued, voice calm, deliberate, terrifying in its simplicity. "Years ago. Because I wanted to know what the ancients buried when they built this place."
"And?" I asked, though I wasn't sure I wanted the answer.
His gaze cut to me, sharp enough to draw blood. "The seal isn't a cage. It's a lock. A lock that can only open for one thing."
"What?" Devon asked, voice low.
Draven didn't hesitate. "Her."
The word cracked the air like thunder.
I swore under my breath, heat flaring under my skin, because for the first time since she walked into our world, I wasn't sure if I wanted to kill Scarlet… or hold her tighter before everything shattered.
Draven turned back to the window, his reflection dark against the sunlight.
"If she fails to find that scale before the full moon," he said, his tone a blade drawn slow, "it won't just be her breaking. It'll be the seal—and everything we've kept buried will rise."