The magic within
Someone shoved a crate of blood vials into the arms of a courier and shouted for them to get to the vault.
Carter Benton appeared at Killian’s side, eyes sharp, daggers spinning idly in his fingers.
“Whatever you did in those tunnels,” he said, “it brought company.”
Killian didn’t reply. He couldn’t — because in the back of his mind, he was replaying the amber eyes, the impossible speed, the word cousin.
They reached the main gate tunnel just as the first explosion hit.
Stone dust rained from the ceiling. The outer doors — heavy iron plated with oak — were cracked inward, smoking from whatever had slammed into them.
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