TRISTAN

“What the hell are you, Tristan?”

My father’s voice kept clawing at the back of my mind through our link.

I ignored it. Again and again.

I followed Leona and Naima down to the catacombs.

By the time we reached the lower tunnels, the air had shifted.

Not just cold. Wrong. Stale. Like the walls were suffocating.

“We need to hurry,” Leona panicked. “That blast didn’t sound too far away.”

We turned a corner and my chest ...