POV EMMA BELLE
The frost on the windows of the tactical chamber looked like jagged silver lace, a perfect reflection of the man standing before the massive map of the North. Nathaniel didn't turn when I entered. He remained perfectly still, his silver hair catching the pale morning light, his fingers tracing the ley lines of our territory with clinical precision.
"Damon is brooding in the armory," Nathaniel said, his voice as cool and smooth as polished marble. "He claims the anchor you forged with him is… incomplete. That the energy transfer lacked the depth of a traditional union."
I walked to the center of the room, my boots clicking sharply against the obsidian floor. "The anchor is holding, Nathaniel. The fortress is stable. Damon's pride is the only thing that's broken."
