Three days had passed since the Phoenix Pact was sealed. Three days of walking through the transformed countryside, witnessing the chaotic birth of a world without masters. Selena and Dante had kept to themselves mostly, avoiding the larger settlements where people were still struggling to understand what freedom meant, where violence and confusion reigned as old structures collapsed and new ones hadn't yet formed.
They needed rest. Needed time to integrate everything that had happened to them—the fusion of their powers, the transformations they had undergone, the pact they had made. Selena's rebuilt heart beat strong and steady, and Dante's scars had settled into a dull ache he could mostly ignore. They were healing, both of them, becoming accustomed to what they had become.
But on the third night, as they made camp in a clearing surrounded by young trees that had sprung up impossibly fast in the marrow's absence, Selena felt something wrong.
