The moon was high when Lucien finally went to her.
Nightfall slept uneasily wolves restless, instincts agitated by what had been declared and not declared. Even the stone halls felt watchful, holding their breath.
Seraphine sat alone in the dim lower chamber, chains gone now, cuffs loosened enough to breathe. She sensed him before she saw him the shift in the air, the way power bent subtly toward a single point.
Lucien stopped just inside the doorway.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said first.
“I know.”
He closed the door anyway.
The torchlight caught his face tired, sharper somehow, the immortal sheen dimmed by something human. He didn’t look like an Alpha tonight.
He looked… old.
Seraphine studied him carefully. “You’re still bleeding.”
