The knock came at dusk.
Three sharp raps on the Citadel gates. Not the frantic pounding of an attack. Not the ritual three-three-three of the old Council. Just three. Measured. Deliberate.
Whoever it was, they weren’t here to fight.
“Elara,” Darius said from where he’d been watching me on the balcony, “stay here.”
I was already pulling on my boots. “Not happening.”
Aria was asleep between us, strawberry stains still on her cheek from our garden day. I couldn’t leave her, but I couldn’t hide either. Not when the world finally came calling.
We went down together.
The gates opened to reveal a single figure on horseback, silhouetted against the dying orange sky. No army behind him. No banners. Just a lone rider with dust on his cloak and exhaustion in his shoulders.
He dismount
