Scarlett’s POV

The room smells wrong the moment I step inside.

It isn’t blood. Not exactly. It’s something sharper—bitter herbs layered with an undercurrent that makes my ancestral echoes recoil. The air feels tight, like it’s been pulled too thin, stretched past what it can safely hold.

Kieran lies on the bed, shirtless, pale lines of old wounds and newer scars mapping his chest. His breathing is shallow and too measured, as if his body is conserving strength it shouldn’t have to ...