Before the War Begins
Madeline
“So, what do we do?” I asked.
The words felt too small for the weight in the room. They echoed anyway, clinging to the silence like ash after a fire.
The images in the mirror were gone, but the residue of them remained — not just in the air, but in me. Something about the image of the collar, still glowing faintly on the pedestal like it was waiting to be claimed once again, made it feel like we were already out of time.
Lucien didn’t answer. He just stood with his back to me, one hand braced against the edge of the stone where the collar lay. His fingers curled slightly, knuckles pale, like he needed something to hold onto before the fury inside him pulled him under completely. His silence didn’t feel passive.
It felt like war, biding its time.
Zyrean
