The first thing Liam felt was cold. Extreme cold.
Not the kind that stung the skin or curled the fingers—but the kind that came from the inside, that spread like a black tide through bone and marrow. It started in his chest, right behind the heart, a pressure like something ancient cracking open.
Then came the weight.
Like a mountain pressing down on him from every direction, grinding his muscles against his bones. His legs buckled, and he dropped to one knee, teeth clenched so hard his jaw began to tremble. The sword in his hand trembled too, the steel whining under the strain of his grip.
Anna wasn't lying.
Her power—whatever it was—didn't belong in this world. It surged through him like floodwaters breaking through rotten wood. His spine arched, ribs strained, and for a moment, he thought his heart might rupture. His eyes rolled back, and the darkness inside his skull pulsed with images—images not his own.
