Page 110 of The Madness Within

Evelyn howled.

I moved behind her, gripping her jaw and forcing her head back until her spine cracked. Ember whispered a spell in the old tongue, her voice a blade itself, binding the witch’s scream in her throat. Blood poured, thick and black, coating the dagger, the floor, Ember’s hands.

“Say goodnight, grandma,” she snarled, eyes burning.

She twisted.

The blade detonated inside Evelyn’s body with a pulse of crimson light, veins unraveling, her soul ripping free in a final, silent gasp.

The body hit the floor.

Hollow. Smoldering. Done.

And Ember didn’t flinch.

Outside, under the sickle moon, Ember exhaled slowly, eyes glowing with silver light. I took her hand. She didn’t pull away. “I’m going to get good at this,” she said.

“You already are.”

“You really mean it?” she asked, glancing up. “The whole... Little Theif thing?”

I smirked. “You’re mine. Signed. Sealed. Delivered.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re stuck with me.”

She smiled. And in that moment, I knew: The world might still bleed, the Veil might tremble, the war might rage… But I had her.

And she had me.

Chapter Forty-Nine

??The Justice We Deliver

Ember

It had been weeks, maybe months, since we closed the Veil and slaughtered the monsters who tried to pry it open.

And somehow, I was still here.

Alive. Mated. Marked. Changed.

I trained every day with Vaelith, the Seer-turned-savage. Her fighting style was brutal, more fangs than finesse, but she’s the best at teaching me how to disappear. How to move through the city without leaving a whisper of evidence. How to rewrite memories with a flick of my fingers and a well-placed lie.

And it’s working. I felt stronger. Faster. Deadlier. My blood wasn’t just mine anymore, it carried the Watchers, the prophecy, the spark of something ancient and terrifying.

But some nights, when the moon’s too quiet and Dorian was away prepping a case, I still ached for the hum of a mic. For the old version of me.

ForDead Wrong.

Tonight, I flipped the switch. Just once. A soft hum filled the studio room Dorian carved out for me in his mansion.

“This isDead Wrong,” I murmured into the mic. “And no, you’re not dreaming.” I let the silence hang before my voice sharpened. “I’m back. And you better believe the monsters I’m tracking now are a hell of a lot more real.”

Two days later, I was lacing up my boots beside Dorian, my leather jacket zipped, a stake hidden in the lining, and three sigils burned into the underside of my skin.

He had that look, sharp suit, deadly smile, fresh off the courtroom stage.

---