Damian turned, the hem of his coat brushing against stone, his shadow long and fractured across the floor as he strode toward the exit; the pressure around him could crack pillars if it had a voice.
The door opened before he touched it. The ether-lined hinges groaned, the place itself adjusting to the atmosphere of a man who was no longer trying to be human.
He stepped into the corridor of the Shadow base—cold, reinforced, silent—except for the three men waiting there like they'd been carved into the stone itself.
Max, General Paul Blake, and Halbrecht.
None of them spoke. Not at first.
They had heard everything.
The walls here were layered in runes and suppression enchantments, but rage was louder than magic. And Damian's voice—quiet, sharp, soaked in control—had torn through the barriers like a verdict written into the foundations.
