Jared’s expression shifted instantly.
“Something’s wrong!”

He snapped his eyes open and looked toward the edge of the ritual array.

Elder Cillian had somehow made his way back inside.

He stood just beyond the array, watching Jared with a faint smile. But there was no trace of the earlier respect in it—only malice and smug satisfaction, like a fox admiring prey already caught in its trap, mockery laid bare in his eyes.

“Mr. Chance, how does it feel?”

He spoke with a smile, his voice thick with ridicule.

Jared met his gaze, silent and cold. The killing intent in his eyes was sharp and exposed, like drawn steel—ready to cut Elder Cillian into a thousand pieces.