The scent of blood still clung to the air, sharp and metallic, as we stood among the fallen rogues. The night was eerily still, the usual symphony of crickets and rustling leaves swallowed by the weight of what had just happened.
Noah hadn’t moved.
He stood over the body of the last rogue he had killed, his breathing shallow, his bare shoulders stiff. His silver-gray hair was matted with sweat, and his hands—still trembling—were coated in dark crimson. But it was his expression that made my stomach twist.
Not grief. Not triumph.
Fear.
“Noah,” I said again, softer this time.
He didn’t react.
Beside me, Kane crossed his arms, his golden eyes unreadable as he studied the boy. Aikan was quieter still, watching Noah like a man staring down a ghost.
It was Aikan who broke the silence.
“
