Chapter 59 The Cost Of Trust

Fynn POV The forest is a cage of twisted shadows, the air thick with the copper tang of Morgan’s blood pooling beneath him, his body crumpled, his silver light gone, the steel blade—Warden’s blade—still buried in his chest. My light—red-gold-white-silver—burns in my veins, a frantic pulse against the black flicker, no longer a storm but a scream, clawing at my soul, demanding break, end, become. I’m on my knees, my hands shaking, pressing his wound, blood hot and slick, my tears falling, my voice a raw plea, “Morgan, stay—please, stay!” His silver eyes are half-open, unfocused, his breath a shallow rasp, fading, and I’m breaking, the Warden, the spark, but powerless, betrayed, lost.