The training yard was empty now, its floor churned with footprints and some bloodstains not yet disappeared from last night.
Torches guttered along the walls, throwing ragged shadows that stretched across the abandoned arena.
Truett leaned against the stone pillar, his lip curled in a sneer.
Beside him, Bowen spat into the dirt, while Yandros shifted, restless, his eyes flicking toward the barracks where the others had long since disappeared.
“Do you ever think about it, Alpha Billion?” Truett said, voice low, almost casual. “About Aramis? How quick his neck went, under Baron’s throw? All because of that scrawny little bastard ghost-boy, Elyan.”
Bowen’s jaw tightened. “Baron had no right. He should’ve let Speare tear the scrawny demon apart. Instead, he made it worse—defending him l
