Page 110 of Wings of Shadow
I tilt my wings and launch skyward, leaving Nikolaas to wreck their perimeter. He charges toward a weapons depot with a roar, gold fire trailing from his maw. The compound erupts in chaos. Sirens wail. Stone cracks. Screams rise like a chorus… A reign of chaos.
There’s no subtlety here. No mercy.
Only war.
And she’s the reason. She’s worth it.
I’m coming, Clarissa.
45
CLARISSA
Pain rips me from the darkness.
It starts as a slow pulse, a throb deep in my head, expanding outward in waves of nausea. It sinks into every bone, every muscle, and every breath, an angry heartbeat thrumming through my limbs. My skin feels too tight, my mouth dry as dust.
Where am I?
What happened?
Memory floods back in razor-sharp fragments. The ambush. Janik’s blood on pavement. The chemical-sweet cloth pressed to my face. But also—the tactical gear, the coordinated movements, the tiger tattoo I glimpsed on one attacker’s wrist before the world went dark.
Mahindra clan. This isn’t random—it’s calculated. They want something from Kaisner, and I’m the leverage.
Which means I’m valuable. Alive.
Through barely cracked eyelids, I catalogue my surroundings—three walls of stone, rough and ancient. One side barred with iron rods thick as my wrist, rusted with age.
I’m in a cell.
A literal cell. The air reeks of damp mold, burnt wood, and something sharper... the unmistakable stench of scorched magic.
No window. No light but the dim, fading glow of a rune-inscribed sconce flickering weakly outside the bars. Its enchantment pulses faintly, sputtering out like a dying breath.
My eyelids flutter closed, and I slip into oblivion again.
A deafening explosion tears through the silence, dragging me back into awareness. The sound slashes through the space like a violent storm cracking apart the sky. The ground shakes, a ruthless rumble. My eyes snap open, but I immediately regret it. Dust and smoke fill the air, choking me as I cough violently, my throat raw. The world spins, and I fight to stay conscious.
The ceiling groans above me, and my spine presses painfully against a cold, unyielding surface—stone, jagged and unforgiving. I blink rapidly, struggling to focus through the haze, fighting the dizziness.
Another tremor shakes the floor, more violent this time. The walls groan under the strain, and dust sifts down from the ceiling, coating my skin. My heart hammers as screams echo in the distance—sharp, desperate. The scent of burning metal, of smoldering steel, seeps into the chamber, filling my nostrils.
They’re under attack.
Panic grips me. I try to sit up, but my limbs feel like they’ve been weighed down with stone. My stomach lurches, the drug still clouding my thoughts. I claw at the wall beside me, fingers slipping on the damp rock, pulling myself up inch by inch.
You have to move. Get up. You can’t stay here.
With a grunt, I manage to get to my knees, gasping for breath. My body fights against me, but I push through, fighting the fog still lingering in my mind. My pulse races now, not just with fear, but with something sharper. A deeper urgency.
Survival.
I can’t stay in this cell. I need to know what’s happening. I need to escape.
Another tremor rocks the floor, but this one is different. It’s not an explosion. It’s lower, deeper, like the world itself is shifting beneath me. A vibration that rattles my chest, my bones.
And then I hear it.
