Mara’s POV
The shift is subtle.
Not in us—but in the room.
It happens the next evening, during what should have been a low-risk meeting. Neutral ground. Limited attendance. No declarations, no decisions. Just information shared and lines clarified.
Exactly the kind of thing that shouldn’t go wrong.
Which is why it does.
The council chamber is older than the city that grew around it—stone walls, high ceilings, power soaked into every crack. Declan walks beside me as we enter, close enough that the bond hums steadily, not flaring, not retreating.
Eyes follow us.
Not openly. Not rudely.
But I feel it anyway.
We take our seats. Declan doesn’t sit behind me or beside me like a shadow. He takes the chair angled slightly to my right—visible, present, unmistakably not hiding.
Good.
The
