Elion
The moment Liora finished speaking, the air around us grew thick and heavy, as if the words themselves had sucked all the oxygen out of the night.
Twenty-seven strokes.
Not five.
Not ten.
Not even fifteen.
Twenty-seven.
The number kept echoing violently inside my skull like a curse I couldn't silence, each repetition sharper than the last. My stomach twisted. My jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Even my wolf, Zyn, went deathly quiet for several long seconds before letting out a low, dangerous growl that vibrated through my bones.
Theo cursed sharply under his breath, the words raw and vicious. Kaden's expression darkened into something cold and unreadable, the kind of quiet fury that usually preceded violence. Lyra, still pale and trembling from the massive magical exertion earlier, looked genuinely horrified, her eyes wide with disbelief.
No one deserved that kind of punishment.
Not for touching some cursed mirror.
Not for being different.
