The Shattered Morning
The watchtower felt colder than stone should.
Lena sat by the dying fire, the forged letter heavy in her lap. The words burned her eyes no matter how many times she read them: If you love her, you will leave her.
Dominic stood across the chamber, shoulders rigid, jaw locked. His eyes never left her. But the silence between them was heavier than any chains.
Kael reclined nearby, looking far too comfortable amid the ruins. His smirk was a knife she couldn’t ignore. Mireya leaned on her staff, face carved with lines of worry, as though she had seen this scene written long before it played.
The others whispered, darting glances at Dominic, at Lena, at the letter. Suspicion spread like rot.
Finally, Dominic broke the silence.
“Lena,” he said, his voice raw, stripped
