Louis, Ellie, and Louisa huddled in the crumbling remains of an old building, the moon's pale light spilling through broken windows, casting jagged shadows across the floor. The Black Choir had hunted them relentlessly, their pursuit unyielding until Ellie's powers cloaked their presence, granting them this fleeting sanctuary.
Louis sat apart, his golden eyes glowing like embers in the dark, his face a mask of indifference. Ellie and Louisa exchanged a glance—they knew that look. It was the facade Louis wore when rage simmered beneath his calm exterior, and tonight, that anger burned for the Novarevs and their relentless Black Choir.
"Mum," Louis said abruptly, his voice cutting through the silence.
Louisa flinched, startled. "What is it, love?"
"I'm not a child," he said, his tone low but steady. "I've seen things—felt the lives of the Christborns before me. Their struggles, their ends. All the same."
"Louis…" Louisa's voice trembled, reaching for him.
