(Caelum Ashborne)
Caelum had not meant to stay.
The decision had been made hours ago, in the clean, disciplined part of his mind that still believed in exits and restraint. It felt laughable now, standing here with his back pressed to stone that pulsed like a living ribcage.
He told himself that three times as he stood in the narrow hollow between walls, cloak of shadow drawn tight, body pressed against warm stone laced with the Devil’s wards. The rock hummed faintly against his spine, wards singing in a low, warning key that told him he had no right to be this close. The crack was no more than a sliver—a deliberate flaw in the palace bones that only someone like him would notice, would dare to test.
It smelled different here, he realised. Not just fire and iron, but heat soaked in
