Kaelen's POV
The crushing weight settled across my chest like iron chains, each breath a deliberate effort against the suffocating pressure that had taken residence in my ribs.
Genevieve. The magic wielders. Their swift, unified betrayal.
For weeks now, fragments of doubt had been scattered through my thoughts like broken glass, sharp-edged pieces that refused to form a complete picture until this very moment. They had painted me as Ursula Blackwood's killer, a witch whose magical prowess and decades of experience would have made any attack against her a battle to the death. The accusation had never held water. Neither had their absolute conviction in my guilt, especially when every shred of evidence screamed that one of their own coven members was responsible.
Facts meant nothing to them.
