HADRIN

The warehouse reeked of magic and blood. It wasn't abandoned, not truly. Someone had scrubbed out the graffiti and cleared the broken bottles. The steel beams overhead had new chains bolted to them, some glinting with silver, others inked with runes in a language I couldn't understand.

I followed the hum of power down the concrete corridor, my boots echoing in the space. Unease gripped me because I knew what I would find.

Lucien.

He was crouched in ...