The clash of steel and distant howls followed them as they stepped away from the center of the battlefield, the chaos fading just enough to make space for something more dangerous—clarity.
Ronan didn’t slow.
He moved with the same steady precision, his expression unreadable, his focus already elsewhere.
Rowan walked beside him.
Not rushing.
Not questioning—yet.
But watching.
Always watching.
The corridor they entered was dim, carved deep into Nightbane’s structure, the sounds of war dulling behind thick stone walls until all that remained was the quiet echo of their footsteps.
Controlled.
Measured.
Tense.
“You’re slipping.”
Rowan’s voice cut through the space without effort, calm but edged with something sharper beneath it.
Ronan didn’t stop.
Didn’t even look at him.
“No,”
