Chapter 4

Petra's apartment smelled like dried herbs and disinfectant, a combination that should have been comforting but only made my stomach churn. I sat cross-legged on her worn couch, the blood-oath scroll spread across the coffee table like evidence at a crime scene.

"You sure about this?" Petra asked, her fingers hovering over the ancient parchment. Her violet eyes—a side effect of the experimental potions she'd been forced to take during her exile—reflected the lamplight with an otherworldly glow. "Once we know what's really written here, we can't unknow it."

I nodded, my throat too tight for words. The scroll had…