(Almira’s POV)
The battle was over. The blood had been washed from the Citadel steps, the bodies taken care of, and the fires finally put out. But no one could sweep away what we all felt in our bones—that the world had changed.
That I had changed.
I walked slowly through the corridor, my limbs heavier than they’d ever been. The Citadel’s stone walls hummed softly with protective enchantments, but my magic—whatever I had unlocked when Lysander fell—was still pulsing faintly under my skin. Warm, golden, aching.
I had killed them all.
The witches. The corrupted werewolves with blue marks who’d screamed as they disintegrated beneath the blinding burst of light I’d poured out of my body.
I remembered screaming Lysander’s name as I held him—his blood coating my hands, his heart slowing be
