Dawn fell over the island like a dense mantle of mist and salt. The fire in the sitting room barely
crackled, releasing faint glimmers of light. Melyra and Lyanna dozed in their chairs, exhausted by
the tension that had piled up. The house breathed in a held, expectant silence.
I, unable to find rest, stood by the window, my eyes fixed on the path that descended toward the
beach. Each heartbeat was a mute plea.
That was when I saw him.
A figure was struggling forward through the fog, supported by two other shadows. My heart
stopped. I didn't need light to know who it was.
—Declan! —I cried, and without thinking I ran for the door.
The sand was cold beneath my bare feet when I rushed out to meet him. The wind carried the
metallic scent of blood—and something darker, something I couldn't name.
Declan could barely stay upright. His head lolled to one side, his lips parted. The two men holding
him were wounded as well, open gashes visible, their faces tight with pain and exhaustion.
—Help! —I shouted toward the house.
Melyra woke at once, running to the doorway.
—Lyanna, gather everyone you can to tend to the men—quickly —she ordered with a firmness that
allowed no argument.
As Melyra hurried toward us, I reached Declan's side. I took his arm, feeling his dead weight sag
against me.
His skin—always warm—was now cold as wet stone.
—I'm here —I whispered, holding him as if my arms could shield him from the world.
Declan, in a murmur barely audible, let slip words that froze my blood:
—It's not just them… there's something worse…
And then he collapsed, leaving me clutching his body in desperation beneath the first gray light of dawn.