"She?" the King asked, his voice smooth and almost curious. "Who is it that needs you so desperately?"
Theron's jaw tightened until it ached. He forced himself to breathe, forced his mind to sharpen despite the panic clawing at his chest. His gaze dropped to the magic circle beneath his feet, scanning every line, every intersection, every pulse of light. If he could identify its structure, he could break it.
But the longer he looked, the more his frustration deepened.
It was wrong.
Not unfamiliar—worse than that. It was familiar in pieces. Two formations he knew, two systems he had mastered, woven together into something seamless, something stronger. Something he had never imagined could exist.
And yet his father had done it.
"Do try not to overexert yourself," the King said mildly, as though commenting on the weather. "You may end up tearing off a limb or two."
