Open, fresh air. The stars just visible through the narrow window. No Wyrdstone coffin. No gate poised to devour her whole. But she knew they were watching, somehow. Those wretched gods. Even here, they were watching. Waiting. A sacrifice. That’s all she was to them. Nausea churned in her gut, but Aelin ignored it, ignored the tremors rippling through her. The heat under her skin. Aelin turned onto her side, nestling closer into Rowan’s solid warmth, Elena’s muffled screams still ringing in her ears. No, she would not be helpless again.
