The air in the bedroom was thick with the scent of aged red wine and something darker—something that smelled like scorched earth and ancient dust. The shadow, draped in Isla’s soft features and wearing one of her silk robes, swirled the liquid in her glass. She leaned against the mahogany bedpost, a wicked glint in her eyes as she toasted her own reflection.
"The brothers are already fracturing," she whispered to the empty room, her voice a low, melodic purr. "First the maid, then the school... by the time I’m done, this entire city will be a graveyard, and I will be the one sitting on the throne of bones."
The heavy oak door creaked open, the sound cutting through her monologue like a blade. Rowan stood in the threshold, his silhouette framed by the dim light of the hallway. He didn't m
