Lucian POV
Lucian decided to let Talia get as much sleep as possible before they left for the inner city. Whatever strength she had left, she would need it behind stone walls and ancient wards, not here in a mountain house that pretended to be safe.
The fire had burned low, little more than a hush of orange coals. Lucian sat awake beside it, boots planted on the stone floor, elbows resting on his knees, listening to the quiet as soldiers listened for ghosts.
Quiet never meant peace.
It meant waiting.
Talia lay in the next room, her breathing soft and even—too even. Lately, even her sleep felt heavy, as if rest no longer reached all the way to her bones. She spoke less each day. Laughed less. The spark in her eyes—the one that had survived exile, war, prophecy, and blood—had dulled int
