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... tning cracked across the swirling clouds, streaking down like veins of blood as the mansion below trembled.

The storm wasn’t natural. It pulsed — in rhythm with something alive.

Daisy steadied herself on the balcony rail, her hair whipping wildly in the charged wind. "Romeo, that thing... whatever it is—it’s feeding off the storm."

Romeo’s gaze stayed fixed on the swirling light above the west wing. His jaw tightened. "It’s not feeding," he said grimly. "It’s calling."

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