Chapter 115 The Night It Ends

• The night air is sharp, heavy with the tang of ash and something darker—corruption that clings to the earth itself. The Queen stands cloaked in shadows, her breathing steady though her pulse races. Her fingers curl against the hollow of her throat where her necklace should rest—but it lies in the wrong hands, Malik’s. She can feel him feeding from it, leeching her strength, making every heartbeat slower, heavier. Still, she steels herself. Tonight, it ends.
• Jack steps into the clearing, tall and proud, standing in the very place where he had once found Fury’s body broken and bleeding, after Malik nearly killed him. Because Malik wields darkness—magic that stains every place it touches—the residue lingers here, a foul mark on the earth. That stain is a door, a tether, a point of return. Jack knows Malik can appear anywhere his magic has left its trace. And here, of all places, the pull will be strongest.
• Moonlight glints in Jack’s eyes, catching the steel within them, the hardness carved by years of grief and fury. His jaw is clenched, fists balled tight, his every movement a storm barely contained. He knows his role: draw his uncle out, enrage him, force him into the open.