Lucas’s mind raced as he and Mia hurried through the citadel’s winding corridors, the stone walls echoing their urgent footsteps. He couldn’t wait. Jackson, Lilith—emergency, he mind-linked, projecting the images sharp as daggers, the Veilblade’s here.
The response came swift from Jackson: Meet at the great hall. Now. Lilith’s link was fainter, a cool acknowledgment. Lucas frowned, glancing at Mia. “That felt… off.”
They burst into the hall, where Jackson and Lilith already waited by the massive oak table. The air was thick, not with strategy, but tension. Lilith stood rigid, arms crossed, staring at a tapestry of the Great War as if it held answers—or accusations. Jackson paced nearby, his usual commanding presence fractured, eyes flicking to her with raw hurt. She wouldn’t meet his ga
