The fortress had become a creature of its own, a beast breathing with the rhythm of war. Drums rolled at dawn and dusk, and the clang of steel rang deep into the night. Wolves trained until their bodies broke, then rose again under Kael’s relentless orders.
Yet Ariana moved through it all like a ghost.
Kael’s eyes were always on her, sharp and possessive, but he was too consumed with maps and war councils to watch her every step. And she needed those slivers of absence. Needed them desperately.
Because the dream—the blood-soaked vision of Kael standing over her parents—clung to her bones like rot. It was not fading, not dissolving like ordinary nightmares. It was a warning.
And warnings demanded answers.
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The library was the oldest part of the fortress, a towering stone hall whose
