Page 92 of Poison Sun

“I can.”

Of course she can. She’s the lead warrior of the clan. If anyone can get us out of here without drawing suspicion and staying under the radar, it’s Cassandra.

“We’ll take a cab to Little Island,” she says. “We’ve been looking into it, and we think the reason the shadow souls have issues with cars is because of their combustion engines. You’ll be safe in there.”

“And when we get to Little Island?”

Her eyes harden, her voice hard as steel. “When we get to Little Island, we’ll find Yannick and Abigail, kill Lucas, and bring the two of them back home, where they belong.”

Morgan

Blaze doesn’t speak as we walk toward the crystal palace.

It’s… alarming.

I know he’s angry. But I thought he’d have questions for me, too. That he’d want to know more about my magic. And maybe—just maybe—that he’d start to come around.

It doesn’t feel like that’s happening now.

Or ever.

“You know,” I finally mutter. “You could at least thank me for saving our lives in the storm.”

“Thank you for saving our lives in the storm,” he says, his voice dead and empty.

Okay. Message received.

He really doesn’t want to talk to me.

Officially giving up, I let the silence wrap around us again.

As we approach the crystal palace, I stop to stare up at it in awe. It’s breathtaking. Its spires are sharp and gleaming, like icicles captured in the freeze of time. They reflect the moonlight, sparkling with magic, pulsing with an energy that I can feel from all the way down here.

I wish I could see what it looks like inside.

But the palace is a landmark on our path—not our destination.

“Come on,” Blaze says, as if he’s not in awe of the palace in the slightest. “We’re questing—not sight-seeing.”

His words sting, but I don’t bother with a reply. It’s not worth it.

Instead, we continue around the bend. And when the valley finally opens, the sight that greets us is nothing short of magical.

A rose garden, each flower a delicate work of art, cascading in waves down toward the cottage nestled at the far end. The cottage is quaint, with its stone walls covered in thick ivy and smoke billowing from the chimney. And behind the cottage, there’s a thin waterfall that starts at the top of the mountain, flowing down into the lush greenery of the Earth itself.

“We’re here,” I say. “We made it.”

“Clearly.” Blaze huffs and starts making his way down the garden’s spiral path. He doesn’t even stop to make sure I’m following.

My heart twists with pain, but of course, I make my way down behind him. We have no time to waste.

It’s not long before the scent of the roses hits me. Their perfume is thick, and it fills my senses, making my head feel light and dizzy. It’s not merely sweet—it’s intoxicating. It seeps into me, stirring the emotions from last night. The ones I’ve been trying since this morning to forget.

Blaze slows as he walks, allowing me to catch up.

His jaw is clenched, his eyes forward. He’s fighting it, but I can see the struggle in the tightness of his shoulders, the quickness of his breath.

“The roses,” I say, the scent wrapping tighter around us. “They’re not just for decoration, are they?”

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