The Citadel was rarely silent, but in the hours between the moon’s zenith and the first gray bleeding of dawn, it held a sacred, predatory stillness. Nyx sat in the Heart Chamber, the walls of volcanic glass reflecting the violet flicker of her own soul. The map of the Silver-Crest had been moved aside, replaced by nothing but the presence of the three men who had anchored her to this new reality.
For the first time since the training began, there was no mission, no strategy, no talk of the coming slaughter. There was only the weight of the Trinity.
Caspian sat on the floor, his silver hair spilling over the dark fabric of his tunic as he cleaned his daggers with rhythmic, meditative strokes. He was the most restless of the three, the one whose mind was always five steps ahead of his hea
