LIAM’S P.O.V.
The training yard still smelled of blood when I left it behind. The boy’s growls still echoed in my ears, but the silence that followed was louder. Fear and respect. Both sharp enough to keep order, for now.
The stone corridors of the keep cooled the heat in my veins. My steps echoed off the walls, carrying me down toward the archives. I knew he’d be awake. He always was.
Sure enough, the smell of burning herbs and ink hit me before I even opened the door.
Ashen sat hunched over his desk, his pale face half-lit by a crooked lantern, muttering to himself like a drunk priest at confession. The tome in front of him glowed faintly, the runes shifting like they didn’t want to be read. His quill stabbed the page like it had personally offended him.
He didn’t look up. Just groa
