Lucian Blackwood.
He appeared like he’d always been there, watching. His presence was neither violent nor warm—it was measured, like a sword weighed before battle. Lucian Blackwood strode forward, not to Atlas’s side, but in front of him, intercepting Theo’s gaze like a well-trained hound catching a thrown blade mid-air.
He looked at Theo with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “We won’t indulge your performances tonight, Voss. This isn’t your court.”
Theo’s grin widened—something wolfish and theatrical, designed to needle under the skin.
“Oh, Lucian blackwood. You speak like you still own the script.” He leaned in slightly, eyes glinting. “But the curtain’s already rising. Whether you like it or not.”
I didn’t realize I had started to tremble. Just a little. The kind of shake that s
