My chest heaved, the last traces of the dark mist dissipating like smoke under a fierce wind. I could barely process the scene around me—the elders watching me with wary eyes, the sacred circle smudged by my trembling hand pressed into the earth. The ritual was over, yet the darkness inside me still clung tight, its claws retracting slowly, like it was unwilling to release its grip fully.
The cold air gnawed at my skin as I staggered back, a rush of memory slamming into me as I felt Aimee's gaze steady and sure, anchoring me to the moment. She hadn't left. My hand tightened around the dagger in my grasp, slick with sweat and dirt. A part of me still felt that urge, the one the curse had fed on for years: a restlessness, a hunger to unleash every suppressed part of me, to let the darkness finally break free. But I wouldn't give it that satisfaction.
