The silence in the triage ward was no longer heavy. It was hollow. It was the vacuum preceding the end.
Two days after her confession Senna Valerius was drowning.
She lay flat on the cot. The pillows were removed because sitting up exhausted her too much. The black web of dead mana corruption had thickened. It climbed her throat like ivy pulsing with a sickening sluggish rhythm that matched her failing heart. Her breath was a shallow bubbling rattle that scraped against the silence of the room.
Vane sat on the stool. His hands were clasped so tightly together his knuckles were white. He watched the slow rise and fall of her chest terrified that each one would be the last.
They were out of time. The pact... to build the foundation then transfer the power... was a failure. He was going to inherit nothing but a corpse and a memory of stubbornness that he wasn't strong enough to carry.
