Chapter 15 The Shadows Mark

The air in Morgan’s office feels too small, too tight, like it’s squeezing me in from all sides. The sketch of that symbol — thorny, twisted, ancient — lies on the desk between us, a silent accusation. My fingers itch to destroy it, to act as if it were never written, but I can’t turn away. Clara’s words ring in my head: binding, control, harness. They’re not just about the shadows now — they’re about me. Morgan’s pacing, his boots thudding on the wood floor, each step a heartbeat that runs in time with the frantic pulse of mine. He stops, hands planted on the desk, looking at the sketch like it’s a map to something he can fight. “This changes things,” he says, his voice rough, laced with a fury I can feel in my bones.