Dawn did not come gently. It pressed through the cracks of Alina’s chambers in thin, unsteady bands, a pale light that felt more intrusive than warm. Her body still throbbed from the night before, as if the marks had not truly dimmed but only gone quiet, lying in wait beneath her skin. She shifted against the sheets, the memory of Kael’s steadiness and Riven’s fire flickering with every movement.
Sleep had been shallow, torn by heat and shivers. Now, awake, she felt stretched between two currents—neither her own, both impossibly strong.
Alina sat up slowly. Her dress from the council still lay crumpled across the chair, dark fabric creased like evidence. She rose and crossed the chamber barefoot, tracing her fingers over the garment as though it might still hold the echo of last night’s
