William's faltering figure stood like a dark monument in the cathedral, his chest heaving as he struggled to maintain the last threads of his dark magic. The power he had drained from the ley lines beneath Harlow was slipping away, leaving him vulnerable for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Yet, even in his weakened state, the hatred in his eyes burned brighter than ever.
Stella's breaths were heavy as she gripped her dagger, her heart pounding from the confrontation and the shockwave that had thrown her back. Her body ached, but there was no time to stop. She could sense it—the fragile line between victory and defeat hung by a thread. If they didn't end this now, William could still find a way to turn the tide back in his favor.
