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The bastard drops his barrier as we emerge, panting slightly from the exertion of holding off the falling debris. White-blond hair clings to his pale forehead, matted with dust and sweat, but he manages a twisted, exhausted smile. His ritual scars gleam in the dim light, and they beat in time with something vast and hungry, a force stirring beneath Chicago's foundations.

"How delightfully predictable. The Vessel and her guard dog, copulating in my sacred chamber while the city burns above us."

A low rumble builds beneath my skin, hackles rising at the casual violation in his tone. "Romantic as always, Malachai."

"Oh, but romance is precisely the point." He spreads his arms wide, encompassing the devastation. "Did you truly think merging your souls together would stop what's already in motion? The entity feeds on connection, you fools. Every heartbeat shared between you only strengthens its hold on this realm."

"I will reseal the entity and end your pathetic crusade," Serenity says, stepping forward with light dancing along her arms like living mercury.

Malachai's laugh is sharp as a guillotine's drop. "Stop it? My dear vessel, that's exactly what your mother thought too."

Serenity goes rigid beside me, the controlled flow of her magic stuttering for a heartbeat before stabilizing again. I catch the slight tremor in her hands along with a sharp gasp in her throat.

"My mother died to stop you," she says in a deadly quiet tone. "She embraced death so you couldn't use her."

Malachai tilts his head, studying her like a scientist examining a specimen. "Is that the romanticized version dear Estella fed you? A tragic, noble sacrifice beautifully crafted to keep you compliant and afraid."

The chamber shudders as another section of ceiling crashes down behind us, cutting off our retreat. Dust clouds swirl around Malachai's feet, yet he remains perfectly still without even blinking.

"Your mother was magnificent, possessing power beyond measure just as you do now." His ritual scars flare brighter as he walks along the crumbling ritual circle’s edge. "She was only twenty-two when she stood in this very chamber all those years ago, possessing a youthful but unyielding spirit. We came to her with an offer—if she willingly opened herself to the entity as the Vessel, her family would be spared. A generous arrangement, I thought."

Serenity's magic lashes out, the ambient light bleeding into a blinding, colorless strobe that scorches the air. "You're lying."

"She refused, of course, displaying that famous Crowe stubbornness. So we offered a second arrangement to hand over her newborn daughter, who was already radiating with more selenic power than any Crowe in centuries. That choice would allow Amaris to walk away and live out her years in peace."

A gruff sound tears from Serenity's throat, a desperate frequency that makes the glowing aura around her hands flicker violently.

"She refused that too." Malachai examines his scarred fingers as though the act itself were a performance. "Honestly, it was inconvenient. We'd spent decades preparing for a willing Vessel, and your mother's defiance forced us to recalibrate entirely. The blood that drained from her throat that night was... regrettable. But watching it pool across this very stone while she choked on her own righteousness?" His mouth curves into something obscene. "That, I confess, was worth the wait."

Beside me, Serenity's entire body locks rigid. Through our bond, her grief hits me—white-hot and annihilating, a pain that shatters a person from the core. A violent rage lunges through me, every protective instinct screaming to tear Malachai apart before he can draw another breath.

"Twenty-nine years," Malachai savors each syllable. "I spent nearly three decades observing your growth while anticipating the bloodline's ripening. Your aunt made it easy by ensuring you remained both ignorant and terrified of your own power. All we had to do was wait for you to come to us." His gaze slides to me. "Though the wolf was an unexpected complication."

The chamber trembles as the entity stirs within Serenity's turmoil, feeding hungrily on grief so fresh it hasn't even begun to scar. Immense fire crawls up her arms, scorching the air around her, and I spot the strain fracturing every rigid line of her body as she fights to keep from detonating.

"You butchered her because she chose me over your ritual."

Malachai tilts his head, studying the devastation on her face with the critical interest of a collector examining a new acquisition. "Mothers do make such predictable sacrifices. I'm counting on you to be equally sentimental."

The entity seizes the opportunity by hungrily latching onto Serenity's raw grief to erode the edges of her control. I can almost see it acting like shadowy tendrils winding through her spirit to seek out fractures to exploit.

Stepping closer to establish an unspoken promise that I will remain steadfastly by her side, I murmur her name, the utterance slicing through the chaos swirling around us.

Her eyes flicker to mine with a glimmer of recognition beneath the fury and sorrow. The bond tightens in a visceral sensation to act as a lifeline that binds her to something real and unyielding.

"Remember that we share this burden together now," I say, stepping close enough for our bond to hum.

The entity seizes on her grief and claws at the cracks in her composure. I feel it through the bond as a parasitic mass trying to wedge itself into our connection to turn her anguish into fuel. Serenity's hands tremble while moon-fire licks higher up her forearms. For one terrible heartbeat, the rage in her eyes eclipses everything else, and I watch her teeter on the edge of detonating to burn this chamber and everyone in it to cinders.

Then her gaze locks onto mine as the storm behind her irises sharpens into a fine, lethal point. The grief stays written across her features in every rigid muscle and wet eyelash, while an unyielding resolve rises to the surface.

"He killed my mother," she whispers, speaking with a steadiness forged in a furnace. "And he thinks that makes me weaker."

Her magic snaps like a blade being freed from its sheath in a lethal release. The chaotic edges smooth as she taps into our bond, and I feel the connection lock into place with an almost physical click. The entity's whispers recede once pushed back by a force fueled by her choice to wield it.

Malachai's composure fractures as a dawning comprehension forms behind his eyes. He realizes the Vessel standing before him possesses a new, unyielding power that redefines everything he anticipated.

"Your mother chose sentiment, and I cut her throat for it."