The figure made a soft, thoughtful noise. “Oh my, you’re right. Where are my manners?” And before she could even blink, the world split. Black lightning cracked through the air like the bones of the Rift itself had been shattered, sharp and merciless. Reality bent for him. One second, he was across the divide where she would never dare tread. The next, he was beside her. Echo’s breath hitched as she stumbled back until she could fully see him. The men of Everlight were perfection sculpted into flesh: sun-gold armor, polished smiles, light that seemed to pour from their very skin. They were holy, untouchable, the ideal pressed into her heart since childhood. But the man in front of her… was the opposite. His hair fell in dark, unkempt waves around his face. His shirt hung open at the collar, exposing jagged black markings that crawled across his chest like they had been burned there by some merciless hand. Rings gleamed faintly at his knuckles, the metals mismatched, shadows slipping across them as though they had weight beyond ornament. His nails were painted a black so deep it swallowed the light, every gesture tipped in something both elegant and threatening. Her gaze, traitorous, slipped across the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint curl of his mouth. His lips moved in the hint of a smirk, until finally her eyes found his. Deep red, glowing, but not with warmth. Fire crackled inside them, black lightning tangled in their depths, sparking like storms locked in a cage. They were wrong. Wrong in a way language couldn’t catch. They stared at her with a knowing weight, peeling her open without permission. And then her gaze climbed… and locked onto the horns. Matte black, curling from his head, wicked in their shape but regal in their bearing. They framed his face like something carved to rule, sharp enough to gut the fragile idea of divinity she’d been raised with. Her pulse thundered at the sight, so loud she could hear it in her ears. They should have repelled her. Should have made her turn away, scream for guards, flee into the light of Everlight’s safety. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. The air around him felt thick, alive. Heat pressed against her skin, too much, like she’d stepped too close to a forge. Her chest burned with it, but her blood ran cold all the same. He was beautiful. He was terrifying. He was the kind of wrong that no priest’s sermon had ever warned her of, the kind that seduced as much as it threatened. Then, he bowed… slow, deliberate. Each motion drawn out until it bordered on performance, elegant in a way that mocked the very idea of grace. His dark hair spilled forward, catching the faint light, the black rings on his fingers flashing as his hand swept lazily through the air. It was the kind of bow you gave to someone you had already decided you owned. “Forgive me,” he murmured, his voice smooth and velvet-dark, threaded with amusement. “I forgot to introduce myself.” When he straightened, his movements were unhurried, almost languid. And then he smirked with a lazy curve of lips that made her heart stutter and her stomach knot. And he said his name. Not spoken. Delivered. Like a blade pressed to her throat. “Azrael Drake. At your service.” The world stopped. Azrael Drake. The name hit her like a bell tolling across bone. Her lungs froze, her blood iced. Azrael Drake. The King of Nevermore. Monster. Villain. The great enemy whispered about in every prayer, etched into every cautionary tale told to children who feared the dark. She had heard about him her entire life—the heartless ruler who commanded an empire of shadows, the unholy force who had waged war on Everlight for decades. And now he was here… breathing the same air as her, close enough to touch. But he wasn’t acting like the stories said he would. He looked… entirely unconcerned, as if this was nothing more than a chance meeting between strangers. And then, with the same detached ease, he tilted his head. His voice broke the silence, soft and merciless. “What’s wrong, little thing?” The words hit her like a hand snapping her out of a dream. Her lashes fluttered. She blinked, startled. “What?” He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t rush. He simply kept his head angled at the slightest degree, unhurried, unbothered, a predator idly playing with its prey. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Her body went rigid, a tremor of confusion flashing across her face. Her throat worked, words scraping against the instinct to stay silent. Finally, her gaze betrayed her, flickering over him, tracing the horns, the black markings, the red storm in his eyes. “You’re…” she exhaled, the word trembling out before she could swallow it back. “You’re the King of Monsters.” And he smiled. Slow. Predatory. Like a wolf recognizing the lamb had finally realized what kind of danger it was in.