So I'm just supposed to die

The door didn't just open; it ceased to exist. One moment it was solid wood, and the next, it was a memory scattered across my office in the form of jagged splinters.

Smoke billowed through the entrance as a figure stepped into view, her silhouette framed by an ominous crimson glow that immediately set my instincts into overdrive.

Seraphine.

Her eyes burned with a fury that made hellfire seem tame, her hair a wild cascade of red flames that licked at the edges of reality itself.

For a split second, I wondered if I could fake my own death and get away with it, but that thought vanished when her gaze locked onto me with the precision of a predator spotting wounded prey.

"Maeve," she said, her voice smooth but deadly, like silk concealing a dagger. "You and I need to talk."

Leora, standing beside my now-defunct desk, cleared her throat. "Seraphine, let's not be hasty—"