The smoke from the Eastern Gate still curled into the sky—a black scar against the morning blue. Inside the castle, a deceptive silence had returned, but it felt like the quiet before a different kind of storm.
I sat on the edge of the mahogany bed, hands resting in my lap. I was still in tactical gear, stained with the grime of the ramparts. My skin felt sensitive, a layer of static humming just beneath the surface. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the Void—the way Silas’s eyes had turned into endless, hungry pits of shadow.
The door to the bath chamber opened. Silas stepped out, dressed in dark silk trousers, damp hair falling over his forehead. Steam followed him like a ghost. I looked at his chest, at the spot where my silver blast had struck him. A faint, circular mark remained—a
