The night air still reeked of blood and broken glass.
Zaria stood at the balcony of her suite, the city lights sprawled beneath her like a thousand watchful eyes. The wind stung against her skin, carrying faint echoes of the rogues’ howls. She should have felt fear. Instead, a fire burned in her chest, fierce and unyielding.
She had killed again. And she had survived again.
Behind her, the room was quiet, though she knew Enric had stationed guards at every door. Damian was on the phone, his low voice like steel as he issued orders. They were moving swiftly, tightening the net, but Zaria knew in her bones that this was only the beginning.
“Three came tonight,” she whispered to herself. “Next time, there will be more.”
She turned away from the balcony and stepped back into the room. Dam
