CHAPTER 89
"A ritual." Lucian's gaze snapped sharply toward Clara.
The single word seemed to thicken the air between them. Clara inhaled slowly, steadying herself under the weight of his attention. He had not spoken, but she did not need him to. She knew that look. Knew the hesitation behind it.
He still did not trust her magic. Not after that reversal disaster. Not after the chaos that had nearly torn everything apart.
Clara forced herself to continue anyway. "But not just any ritual," she said carefully, choosing each word with precision.
"If the block is ancient — and it feels ancient — then ordinary methods won't work. We'll need a catalyst. Something tied to that time. Something that carries the imprint of the memory itself."
Lucian said nothing. But his eyes moved. They shifted slowly toward the vanity across the room, where one of his shirts hung over the edge of the chair.
