Elara
The council chamber smelled of old pinewood and cold stone, the kind of scent that clung to walls steeped in centuries of secrets. Torches hissed faintly in their sconces, a low and constant sound beneath the murmurs of the elders settling into their seats. Their robes brushed the floor, soft swishes echoing faintly in the large room.
I lingered near the back wall, half in shadow, my fingers resting on the smooth carved frame of the door. From here, I could see everything every shift of posture, every sideways glance, every tightening of jaws.
Dominic entered late.
The sound of his boots hitting the stone floor was sharp and quick, like a man trying to walk ahead of his own unease. He gave the room his usual proud nod, but I noticed the difference instantly. The elders did not
