Chapter 25 What Are You Hiding

• It started with the smell. Not the mildew-and-herb rot of Eden's damp stone sanctum, no. This was worse. Rancid magic, dying on the vine. Like someone had bottled a thunderstorm, let it ferment for a decade, then spilled it across the leyline floor. It stuck to Kayne’s nose like burning iron, dragging bile up his throat even as he remained sprawled on his side, arms chained, face slick with fevered sweat.
• Somewhere, the warded chains clanged. Soft, mournful. A lullaby for condemned things.
• “You feel that, don’t you?” Eden's voice slithered through the air, as gentle as honey and as thick as blood. “It wants you. The new unborn magic system. The birthing core. It’s clawing toward you like a starving child.”