Aziel's pov
The air in the packhouse was tense.
I could feel it buzzing around me, crackling like static.
I hadn't even taken three steps past the door when Zior’s scent hit me and her presence radiating from the far end of the hall.
And I knew—knew this wasn’t going to be just another conversation.
Her figure was tight and poised, her shoulders squared as she waited, hands clenched.
She was ready for a fight, and I felt the weight of it settle in my chest.
“Aziel,” she called sharply, her voice like a whip as it echoed through the empty hall.
I stopped, took a slow breath, and walked toward her, steadying myself.
“Zior. What’s going on?”
Her eyes flared with an intensity I hadn't seen in a long time.
“What’s going on?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it, just bitter
