Freja's POV
I sat on the cold leather chair inside James' office. My fingers fidgeted over the hem of my sleeve while my heart pulsed hard against my ribs. It was like a never-ceasing rhythm reflecting the chaos running inside my brain. I barely slept last night, as thoughts of those haunting words of the priestess still lingered.
**One of us will die alone, and the other will live without one.**
The prophecy echoed in my head, my chest tight enough to burst. I knew better than to believe in fate, and yet… the priestess had never been wrong before.
I bit my lip, my throat dry, and tried to steady myself. The air in the room shifted the moment James stepped into it, filling it with the usual controlled, almost indifference that characterized him. His sharp gaze met mine; there was a slight furrowing of his dark brows, as if he sensed my tension.
He slowly crossed the room towards his desk but never once took those piercing eyes from my face. "What's up with you?" His voice was even a
