The wolf realm:
Twenty-four hours.
Aire had been gone for twenty-four hours.
Twenty-four hours since the portal swallowed her, and twenty-four hours since the dark fae took her. Twenty-four hours without a single lead.
Without a single clue. There was not a single way to reach her.
The silence stretched in the throne room.
Hundreds of witches knelt across the marble floor. Their wrists were bound, and their magic was suppressed.
Guards stood around them from every direction, trapping them with the intention of beheading then at the slightest move.
Nobody moved, and none of them breathed too loudly.
At the center of it all, Nate stood there, pacing back and forth in the pattern of breakdown. He paced back and forth repeatedly.
The sound of his boots striking marble echoed throughout the room. Every step carried enough tension to make the nearest guards nervous.
Nobody approached him. His grief was obviously too raw, terrifying, and ugly grief.
