I froze. What the hell? Did I just…

Slowly, I turned.

Darius stood a few feet away, dusting off his hands like he'd simply stepped through a casual doorway instead of ripping through a witch-warded teleportation fold.

"How—"

He grinned, smug and infuriating. "You think you're the only one who knows how to bend space? I'm old, Sage. You think your little witch spells are enough to bar me?"

I didn't like the way he said my name—soft, certain, like he'd peeled back the mask I wore and seen the real skin underneath.

And Saints, I was so tired of him. Tired of his existence. Tired of his inconvenient intelligence,...