Page 411 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

I crawled the few paces to Lana, who lay unconscious on the ground. I flung myself over the corpse of a slain tormentor and lunged for her limp form. My hands trembled as I grabbed her shoulder and turned her over—only to recoil.

Where there had been cuts, bruises, a split lip and brow, Lana’s face was…perfect. Even the old scars were gone. Healed. Her silvery hair, still matted with gore, was the only sign the battle had ever happened at all.

I blinked, then looked down at my own hands. Clean. No blood. No scrapes or bruises. No signs of the fight we had just survived.

My heart pounded as I scanned the square, listening. I could hear heartbeats—the covens who had come to aid us. Cyrus lay nearby, his chest rising and falling in slow rhythm, sandwiched between Calypso and Carr. At their feet, the demons were dead.

But the Renown…

The Men of Renown were gone.

Shit. Adrastos⁠—

I scrambled to my feet and sprinted toward Alvara’s collapsed form. My fingers found her throat, sliding to a halt just below her jaw.

There. A pulse—barely—but present.

“Ally,” I hissed, shaking her. “Ally, wake up. Come on.”

She stirred with a pained grunt, blinking up at me as her trembling fingers lifted to her temples. She nodded, just barely.

Good enough.

I bolted across the square, heart in my throat, until I reached Magnolia—collapsed over Aren’s still body. I dropped to my knees, skidding to a stop beside her. The pavement tore at me, but I barely registered the pain. I reached for her, my focus narrowed to the rise and fall of her breath.

She was alive. The witch who had exploded—with both light and shadow—was still breathing.

Thoughts for another time.

I leaned toward Aren’s parted lips, preparing to check for breath—when I saw something worse than death.

Adrastos stood behind Alvara, cloaked in flickering shadows. One dagger pressed to her throat. Another to her back. Her head lolled against his shoulder, her arms limp at her sides. She looked like a doll left in the rain. Exhausted. Defenseless. With one flick of his wrist, the pendant at her neck slid free, falling silently to the mud.

His black eyes locked with mine.

There was no rage in them. No triumph. Only the cold weight of numbness.

He pressed the blade harder. Alvara arched in response, her breath catching in pain.

“Wake her,” he ordered, nodding toward Magnolia beside me.

I hesitated.

“Wake her, little Wraith,” he said again, his voice unnervingly calm.

My hand shook as I reached for Magnolia’s fever-hot skin. Please, I begged inwardly. Don’t burn the world again. She stirred, licking cracked lips, then winced as she pushed herself upright—just enough to see. And froze.

Her gaze landed on Alvara, helpless in Adrastos’ grip.

“Bell…” Her voice cracked, thick with anguish. His name fell like lead. “Please don’t do this.”

For a moment, I thought I saw something ripple through his expression—pain. Regret. Something human.

But then it was gone. His face hardened, mouth drawing into a tight, bloodless line. His eyes shimmered, throat bobbing.

And then—just one word. Dry. Flat. Final.

Before I could register it, before Magnolia could scream⁠—