The storm hadn’t passed when Jasmine dragged herself from the ruins of the temple courtyard. Smoke clung to her skin, ash staining her lips. Every inch of her body trembled, scorched from Silas’s last strike, yet her spirit burned hotter than the wounds he’d carved. Each step was agony, but each step defied what he craved most—to see her crawl, broken and bowed. Blood ran in thin rivulets down her arm, dripping into the earth like an unwilling offering. She pressed forward anyway. Stopping meant surrender. And surrender was death.

Caleb waited at the shattered archway, his expression drawn and shadowed. When his gaze found hers, an unspoken truth weighed...