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The energy shifts from a gentle current to a raging torrent. My careful meditation shatters, and the jagged shards of my lucidity vanish as something vast and ancient latches onto the connection I've opened. The world tilts sideways, reality fracturing around the edges.

"Rene?" Darius's voice sounds impossibly distant. "What's happening?" The sheer force steals my voice and traps the air in my lungs.

Something notices me.

The awareness is vast and formless—a crushing instinct that saturates my consciousness to the point of total displacement. Images flood my vision of underground chambers carved from living stone where something enormous writhes against chains forged from starlight and suffering.

Blood pools thick and heavy on the ancient altars while figures in ceremonial masks chant words that make the air itself scream. Moonlight warps and bends, becoming something hungry and alive.

The ancient hunger behind that awareness is staggering and obsessed solely with me. It wants something. Wants me, specifically, so bone-deep and undeniable that my whole frame aches.

"No." The word tears from my throat, coarse and desperate.

The presence pushes harder, rage and hunger indistinguishable from each other. It shows me visions of Chicago burning, of the supernatural world torn apart by unchecked moonish power. It shows me myself standing dead center in the destruction, argent fire pouring from my hands while everything I've ever cared about crumbles to ashes.

The pressure doubles, then triples, its possessive fury crushing inward like some twisted homecoming—and that's what terrifies me most.

My body convulses, magic spiraling beyond any hope of control. The grass beneath me withers and dies. Trees groan as their bark splits, bleeding a sap of unnatural phosphorescence.

Strong arms wrap around me and slam me against solid warmth.

"Focus on my voice." A sudden authority cuts through the chaos, resolute and commanding. "Rene, stay with me."

I force my eyes open to find his gaze inches from mine. His hands frame my face, fingers brushing away tears I didn't realize I was shedding.

"You’re here with me," he says firmly. "Securely anchored away from those visions."

The entity roars its fury as Darius's protective wolf energy acts like a shield. It wraps around me to create a barrier between my fractured consciousness and the ancient hunger trying to devour it.

"I can't—" My voice breaks. "It's too strong."

"You’re stronger." His grip clamps down, rooting me to reality. "Fight it."

The white-hot blaze consuming my vision begins to dim. Darius's scent—leather mixed with the warm, familiar musk of his skin—fills my lungs, pushing back the stench of old blood and decay. His heartbeat thunders against my chest, solid and real and infinitely more powerful than the whispers promising destruction.

The presence withdraws purposefully, receding like a satisfied tide that finally found its missing prize.

The connection snaps and leaves me gasping and shaking in Darius's arms.

We stay intertwined in the grass, my body shaking against his chest while the forest slowly returns to normal around us. The withered circle where my power erupted stands out sharply against the terrain, yet Darius bypasses the sight. He keeps his gaze trained squarely on me.

"I felt it. The thing they're trying to wake up. It knows me, Darius. It's been waiting for me."

His arms tighten. "It's gone now."

"For how long?" I ease back to meet his eyes, enabling him to see the terror I've been hiding all our time together. "What if I can't control this? What if next time I hurt someone who matters?"

"You won't."

"How do you know? I could become exactly what that entity wants—a monster that destroys everything in its path. The vision showed me burning Chicago to the ground with my bare hands."

"Rene." He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch impossibly gentle for hands that have dealt so much violence. "Look at me."

I do, finding something in his eyes I've never seen before—complete, unguarded honesty.

"I've spent seven years believing monsters are made by choice," he says quietly. "That evil grows from selfish decisions and weak character. But watching you fight this thing? You’re clearly terrified of hurting innocent people, even while it tears you apart from the inside." His thumb skims along my cheekbone. "That's not how monsters think."

"What if I'm wrong? What if the fear isn't enough to stop me?"