The explosion hit like thunder laced with fire.
The corridor around them shuddered, ancient stone groaning as if the very bones of the palace had been struck.
The stained-glass windows lining the archway shattered inward in a chorus of crystalline screams—jagged shards slicing through the air like knives hurled by gods.
Malvoria didn't think.
She moved.
She yanked Elysia against her with a force born from instinct, wrapping both arms around her and turning, shielding her body with her own just as the glass came crashing down.
Shards struck her back, slicing through her coat. Pain flared along her shoulders, her spine. She hissed, low and sharp, but didn't flinch.
Elysia was pressed against her chest, wide-eyed, breathless, her fingers digging into the fabric of Malvoria's suit.
The box the small velvet-wrapped gift had fallen to the floor during the chaos. It lay abandoned now near the broken arch, half-covered in debris and flickering shadows.
