It was too quiet in the automobile. The sort of quiet that followed chaos was not serene, but brittle and fractured. With one arm wrapped over Sarah to support her while she leaned on him, Marcus sat in the backseat, his body heaving with misery. On their clothing, there was a slight odor of sweat, ash, and dried blood. Across from them, Diana sat staring at the black blur of trees that went by the window. Her hands were gripped tightly together in her lap, as though she was still attempting to anchor herself, and her hair was knotted. Her eyes occasionally shifted to Marcus and back again. Minutes went by. Then Sarah stirred softly. Her head moved about Marcus's chest. When she opened her eyes, her fingers glistened dimly in the car's dim interior light, and they twitched slightly on her lap. "I'm sorry," she murmured in a raspy voice. Marcus gave her a downcast expression but remained silent. She whispered, "I should have been more careful." "If I hadn't gotten involved, non

Like it knew the house had endured enough, the gentle, golden sunlight poured through the cream drapes. Slowly, Sarah stirred under the covers. Her limbs hurt. She moved, and her ribs protested. However, she was safe. The Moon estate was abnormally quiet. There was no clinking of plates, no distant staff chatter, and Victor was not pacing the hallway outside her door. For some minutes, she just lay there. Taking a breath. Her mind flashed back to the Hollow. the strain. the chill. Marcus struggled to get to her, and she could hear her own heartbeat thumping in her ears. And despite everything, Diana is still reaching out. She pricked her eyes. She blinked quickly. Then she heard it, faintly. A piano. She took a seat. The player didn't seem to be trying to impress anyone with the slow, unsure melody. Simply have a feeling. Carefully, she pushed the covers aside and stood up. The wooden floor felt warm under her bare feet. She was still wearing a cozy robe that had been put on the

Since that night, he has been unable to shake the smell of blood. Harrison Blackwood could still hear Marcus Steele's fist pounding into his ribs as he lay half-conscious in his private chamber, his body saturated in heat and his chest tight with pain. The metallic crack of electricity was still detectable in the air. He had been turned away by the Hollow. But he wasn't troubled by that. It was his near-death experience. The light seeping through the velvet curtains caused him to blink gently. His side was still burning. Three ribs are broken. He had a nasty cut on his shoulder. Shadows and pride are woven into a wound. He was meant to be more powerful. More intelligent. Ready. Rather, like he was nothing, he had been flung against a wall. He tightened his jaw. When compared to Marcus, he was nothing. The Warborn. The boy with the golden hair. The unintentional god. Not a rescuer, but a curse. His thoughts strayed back. It had been a chaotic escape moment. Harrison had signaled a

Sitting silently, Marcus gazed into the dark swirl of his unfinished coffee. Sarah could sense that he was thinking about something else despite the café's soft hum enveloping them. Her head was cocked. "You're doing it once more. What are you doing? Brooding as if your sword and dignity were just stolen." He didn't answer. He continued to stare down at his drink while rubbing the back of his neck. After observing him for a moment, Sarah put down her cappuccino. "Arise." He blinked. "What?" "Get up." "Why?" "Because you will continue to think about her while you sit here." She got up, fiddling with her jacket. "So why don't you just go see her if you're that concerned?" Marcus paused. Sarah's eyebrows went up. “Marcus, hurry up. It's you who battles the gods. Please don't tell me that you're afraid to knock on Diana Sterling's door.” Despite his sigh, he rose. "All right. However, you will be responsible for my stitches if she ends up hurling something at me.” Sarah smile

Sarah stopped. As soon as she entered the room, her breath caught. Warm, gentle lighting was provided by floating crystal lanterns that created golden patterns on the walls that resembled stars spilling through the ceiling. The aroma of lavender enveloped her, soothing and eerie, like memories she had never experienced. And she was in the middle of it all. The beautiful woman laid on the bed. Her long silver hair flowed in a flawless braid over her shoulder. Although her face was motionless, it was not dead. Gentle. Calm. As if she were just napping. Her hands, both of them, sparkled softly at the fingers, and her flesh shimmered faintly in the light. Alive. But unearthly. Sarah's knees grew weaker. When she spoke, her voice wavered. "Who is she?" Victor walked slowly as he followed her inside. "Your grandmother." Sarah's eyes got bigger. "What?" "You are aware of her name," Victor stated quietly. "Or you ought to have." Sarah looked at him in shock, “You said that she had l