ROGUE BLOOD
It could be.
I bite back a curse and retreat a step, circling the room. I need to adjust the anchors again. Move them, reinforce them, hide their connections better. Sweat sticks to my back, my fingers burn. My voice is tight as I whisper the incantations. The words tangle in my throat, almost forgotten under the strain, but I force them out.
Each adjustment costs me. Not just energy. Not just calm. Stability cracks inside me. My mind races, calculating every possibility, every variable. If Mia fully awakens now, if Gus pushes harder—giddws, if they collide—there is no telling what could happen.