Page 78 of Too Dangerous To Die

Black. Glinting with fire.

I move fast.

Blade in hand, I spin and drive it forward—not toward her—but toward the artifact.

Idon’thesitate.

Steel strikes stone and a shriek erupts—not from the artifact—but from within it. Somethingalive. Something caged.

The first blow fractures the surface. The second splits the glyphs apart in a burst of light.

The third wakes the dead.

The ground quakes. The runes flare. The entire ruinshuddersas if trying to breathe through a shattered lung. And then?—

A shadow peels itself free from the far wall. Not just another Wraithborn scout.

This one is different.

Taller. Armored in bone etched with ritual markings. A helm like a broken crown. Its mouth sewn shut with molten gold and yet I hear its voice.

Inside my head.

“You dare awaken me?”

The Wraithborn Warlord.

One of Medea’s generals.

I raise my blade just in time as it descends, sword gleaming with soulflame. The impact sends me skidding back across the floor. I slam into a pillar hard enough to fracture bone. My vision spins. My magic stutters.

But I force myself upright.

“Nora,run!”

She doesn’t.

She’s frozen, clutching her head. Her magic is flaring around her like a storm barely leashed, reacting to the Warlord’s presence—maybe evenresonatingwith it.

He steps toward her, ignoring me now. His focus isher. And she still hasn’t moved.

“You were mine once,” the Warlord says inside our heads. “You wore a crown of ruin. You bound us with blood. Come back, and we will finish what we began.”

I throw my blade.

It slices across his face—more a distraction than a wound—but it buys me seconds. I charge again, claws extended, wings tearing the ash behind me as I crash into him.

The Warlord catches me by the throat.

Lifts me like I’m nothing.

His fingers burn into my skin. My magic howls in protest, flickering like it wants to collapse.

And then?—

Norascreams.

Not a cry of fear.

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