The laughter beneath the earth faded into a tremor, a memory of sound rather than sound itself, leaving behind a pressure that pressed against ribs and resolve alike. Evelyn stood at the center of the glowing runes, light breathing with her pulse, and for the first time she understood what it meant to be seen by something older than fear.
River felt it too.
The bond between them thrummed—tight, unyielding, a living wire stretched between their hearts. He could taste iron and ozone at the back of his throat, could feel the ground's awareness coil around Evelyn's ankles like a vow seeking a voice. Every instinct in him screamed to pull her away, to put his body between her and the Council, between her and the earth itself.
But she didn't move.
She didn't need to.
"Lower the wards," the man in black and silver said, his tone smoothing into diplomacy as if diplomacy could still survive this moment. "We didn't come to provoke a cataclysm."
