Lucian POV
The smell hit first.
Ash—old enough to have cooled, young enough to still sting the lungs. Burned timber. Blood is turned iron-rich by cold. And beneath it all, something darker.
Death without ceremony.
Lucian slowed his horse instinctively. Savage surged just beneath his skin, not snarling, not demanding control—just present. Watchful. The way he became when the world shifted from travel to truth.
Cassius lifted a fist behind him. The scouts halted.
Snow still clung to the ground, but it no longer fell. The storm had passed, leaving behind a pale, accusing quiet. The kind that didn’t forgive.
Lucian dismounted.
Each step forward felt deliberate, weighted. Not dread—recognition. Something in the bond hummed low and steady. Talia was not afraid when she was there.
She ha
