Ava had retreated to feed Lyra, leaving me sitting in my makeshift wheelchair, watching the cold air seep between the trees. Every movement around me was efficient, precise, as if everyone knew exactly what they had to do.
They were rogues, I reminded myself. Drifters. Savages. But as I watched them work together, so organized, that image didn’t fit.
A familiar weight in the air made me look up.
I saw him approaching.
The Rogue King walked toward me, his figure commanding the space as if everything around him gravitated toward him. His steps were deliberate, each one filled with a confidence that seemed unshakable. When he finally stopped in front of me, his red eyes glowed with that unsettling intensity that always put me on edge.
"What do you think of what you've seen so far?" he as
