Chapter 16 The Dying Spark

The air in the Neutral Zone was thick, a humid soup of industrial pollutants and stagnant magical residue. For Scarlett, every breath felt like inhaling ground glass. Ever since they had crossed the border, a cold, rhythmic pulsing had started at the base of her skull—the unmistakable sign of Soul-Displacement Rejection.

In her previous life as an occultist, she had read about it in forbidden scrolls: when a soul from another world overuses its spiritual power in a body not its own, the tether begins to fray. The "fake" mark she had placed on Caleb had cost her more than she let on, and the damp heat of the South was accelerating the decay.

"Scarlett, you're slowing down," Caleb said, his voice cutting through the neon haze. He stopped in the middle of a crowded alleyway, his golden eyes narrowing as he scanned her face.

"I'm fine," Scarlett lied, but the world suddenly tilted. The neon signs above a nearby noodle shop smeared into streaks of nauseating pink and green. "It's just... the humidity."

She took a step forward, but her legs felt like they were made of water. Her vision went pitch black, and the last thing she felt was the crushing heat of Caleb’s arms catching her before the pavement could.

"Scarlett!"

Caleb’s roar of panic was the last thing she heard before the darkness claimed her.

When she finally drifted back toward consciousness, the smell was different. It wasn't the rot of the streets; it was the sharp, antiseptic tang of rubbing alcohol mixed with the earthy scent of dried mugwort.

"She is not of this world, Caleb. Not entirely."

The voice was thin and raspy, like parchment rubbing together. Scarlett forced her eyes open, squinting against the harsh light of a single, flickering bulb. She was lying on a rusted examination table in a room filled with glass jars containing preserved organs and strange, glowing moss.

Caleb was standing by the door, his jaw set so tightly it looked like it might shatter. He had removed his mask, and his face was a mask of cold, controlled fury. "What do you mean, 'not of this world', Dr. Vane?"

Beside the table sat an ancient man with skin the color of tea leaves and eyes that were milky with cataracts. This was Dr. Aris Vane—a disgraced human surgeon who had once been the secret physician to the Blackwood family before the coup.

"The body is Scarlett Thorne’s," the doctor murmured, his gnarled fingers pressing against Scarlett’s wrist. "The blood, the bone, the DNA... it is all Thorne. But the spirit inside? It is a flame that does not fit the lamp. It is fighting her, Caleb. Every time she uses that strange, Eastern magic, she is burning the wick from both ends."

Caleb turned his gaze to Scarlett, and for the first time, she saw a flicker of genuine fear in his golden eyes—fear not for himself, but for her. He moved to her side, his hand covering hers. His touch was burning hot, a stark contrast to the unnatural chill in her veins.

"Is that why you’ve been running?" Caleb whispered, his voice a jagged edge of pain. "Not from the Blood Moon, but from your own life?"

"I... I didn't think it would happen this fast," Scarlett rasped, her voice sounding hollow even to her own ears.

"She needs a stabilizer," Dr. Vane interrupted, turning to a shelf filled with darkened vials. "But standard Lycan serums won't work on a soul this... displaced. She needs something with a higher spiritual frequency. Something like the Lunar Key’s residue."

Caleb’s grip on her hand tightened. "Then we don't have time to wait for Shadow-Drivers. We break into the Thorne estate tonight."

"Caleb, no," Scarlett tried to sit up, but the room spun. "It’s a fortress. Julian will be waiting."

"Let him wait," Caleb growled, the shadow of the silver wolf flickering violently against the wall. "I have already lost my throne, my memory, and my pack once. I am not losing the woman who gave them back to me. If I have to tear the Lunar Key out of your brother’s cold, dead heart to keep you in this body, then that is what I will do."

He looked at Dr. Vane. "Keep her stable for three hours. If I am not back by then, take the money in the SUV and get her to the coast."

"Caleb, wait!" Scarlett reached out, but he was already moving toward the door, his aura expanding until the glass jars on the shelves began to rattle and crack.

The King was no longer just protecting his mate; he was a god on a warpath. And as the door slammed shut, Scarlett realized that her secret—the truth of her transmigration—was now the very thing driving Caleb into the jaws of the enemy.