The silence that followed the closing of the rift was more violent than any explosion. Lucian stood in the center of the swirling gray mist, his hand still outstretched, his fingers still tingling from the agonizingly close warmth of Lyra's skin. For a heartbeat, his mind refused to accept the reality. He was the Executioner's shadow, the monster that kings feared, the predator that never lost his prey.
And yet, the Void had taken her.
"Lyra..." her name was a broken rasp, a sound of pure, unadulterated ruin.
Then, the grief was incinerated by a white-hot wall of rage. It started in the marrow of his bones and radiated outward, a dark, suffocating energy that began to crack the very floor of the dimension. His shadow, usually a controlled tool of terror, exploded. It grew, stretching into jagged, obsidian wings that tore through the mist, seeking something anything to destroy.
