The Tower Master and Cecelia exchanged glances, something unspoken passing between them. Then, before either of them could answer, Nyx—still in my arms—tilted his head and murmured,
"They used a vast amount of black magic."
A chill ran down my spine.
Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.
Black magic.
The words settled in my mind like ice plunging into deep water, freezing everything in their wake. My breath came in slow, uneven pulls, my heartbeat hammering an anxious rhythm in my chest.
I looked between the Tower Master and the real Cecilia—if I could even call her that. The woman who once bore this name, who once walked these halls with authority and purpose, now stood before me as nothing more than a ghost of her former self. A remnant. A living contradiction.
And me?
I was the intruder, wasn't I?