Dante’s POV
The council chamber always has that weird smoky, inky, like maybe somebody dumped a bottle of cheap cologne on a mountain of paper. Scrolls everywhere, walls stacked so high, it’s a miracle no one got crushed yet. Torches barely hanging on, flames twitching and tossing shadows across the elders’ faces, exaggerating every wrinkle and frown. These meetings were supposed to be some kind of bureaucratic nap-fest. Chopping up land, arguing the price of rabbit jerky, moaning about broken wagons... but today felt off from the jump.
All because Dominic went rogue.
Just turned, plain as day, and locked eyes with Elora.
“Well, Luna, what’s your take?” he tossed out, with that smooth, neutral tone he rocks when he’s pretending not to stir the pot. Like he wanted her opinion on the fog
