The woman stepped over the threshold like she owned the ground itself.
Each click of her heels was a warning.
Raze’s body blocked Amara on instinct, arm raised to shield. Cain didn’t move. He just watched the woman with a peculiar stillness—like a wolf eyeing another predator it once shared a den with.
Amara’s voice was ice. “Who are you?”
The woman smiled, and the temperature dropped another degree.
“I’ve been called many things,” she said, voice silk-wrapped venom. “But you may call me Virelle. The Hollow Court’s First Tongue. The one who sings the truth.”
“Cute,” Cain muttered. “The truth nearly killed the last fool who listened.”
Virelle didn’t look at him. Her eyes stayed on Amara.
“Ah, the brother,” she said lightly. “Still snarling at thrones you can’t claim.”
Cain bared hi
