Becky's fingers trembled slightly, a reflexive twitch she quickly suppressed. "Okay..." she murmured, the word feeling heavy and inadequate. Everything in her screamed to argue, to insist that her power was an asset, not a liability.
She was a master in her own right, yet as she looked at William's profile—etched in grim, immovable determination—a cold realisation stayed her tongue. If she moved now, she wouldn't be his partner; she would be a hurdle he had to jump over.
With a swallow of bitter pride, she anchored herself. She became a statue amidst the rushing wind of the riverbank, her presence a fixed point in the chaos about to unfold.
William didn't waste a heartbeat on a farewell. He opened the engagement with the practised brutality of a general. With a flick of his will, his monsters surged forward—a tide of nightmare and sinew.
