(Carlos’ POV)
The streets of Shadowlands still had the aroma of fire.
Carlos walked alone, coat drawn tight, boots crunching the cobblestones. He still saw the blaze on the balcony, the Golden Dragon’s fire, how it silenced her scream. Cheers filled the night, but never touched the hollow ache in his chest.
He had wanted her dead. Needed it. But the certainty he expected wavered, replaced by something unfamiliar and raw.
Why did it feel like grief, creeping in with every reluctant step?
He reached a corner where an old tavern stood. The sign had rotted away, leaving only a few rusted nails. He stopped, tipped his head back, and took a long, unnecessary breath. The night air was cold, but it didn’t bite him anymore. Nothing did.
He thought about the centuries he’d spent pretending he
