The fortress was quiet at dawn—too quiet.
No birds sang. No wind stirred. Even the guards patrolling the upper ramparts moved with subdued urgency, their hands close to their weapons, their eyes scanning every inch of the surrounding mountainside.
Selina stood alone in the war room, her hands braced against the table. The room smelled of old parchment, burning incense, and tension. Light from the stained-glass windows filtered in, splashing the maps in hues of crimson and gold. But even beauty couldn’t mask the dread in the air.
Zane entered quietly behind her, his steps slow. His body was still recovering. The bond tethered between them pulsed faintly, steady but fragile—like a heartbeat echoing across the veil.
“They’re coming,” she said without turning.
“I know,” he replied, voice
