It had been three days since the assassination attempt on Nyra.
Three days of locked doors and watchful shadows.
Three days of silence that felt like it could splinter bone.
Valkhara stood at the window, fingers curled around the stone sill, watching the blackened clouds roll low across the sky. The scent of rain teased the air, but it hadn’t fallen yet. It was waiting—like the rest of them.
Sevrin paced the hall outside her room like a caged animal. Daxos hadn’t slept. Nyra remained sealed in the library, surrounded by protective wards, her blood still drying on the marble floor where she’d nearly bled out.
And Azric...
Azric had stopped speaking altogether.
No one could find him. Not really. His body was here—in the castle. But the man? His mind? His presence? Gone.
“Where is he?
