Page 219 of Marked By His Hunger
The ghosts screamed.
The entire room shook as her control faltered—then shifted.
Changed.
Focused.
Her eyes opened.
Purple met purple.
Recognition.
“Raven,” she whispered.
Relief hit me so hard my knees nearly buckled.
“Unnasta Minn,” I breathed.
She was back.
Not whole.
Not steady.
But mine again.
Around us, the ghosts surged once more—but this time, the power wasn’t spiraling out.
It was pulling in.
Controlled.
Directed.
She stood—barely—and I steadied her, my arm tight around her as she looked at the destruction.
At what she had done.
At what she had become.
And then—she took it back.
I felt it happen.
Not as a surge.
As a command.
The dead obeyed.
One by one, then in waves, they were cast out—sent back to their places, their realms, their waiting.
The room stilled.
The storm ended.
Silence crashed down.
