The storm had not passed.
By dawn, the fortress felt less like stone and more like a cage. Rain hissed down the windows, wind howled through the eaves, and every corridor echoed with footsteps that lingered too long, as though the very walls were listening.
Olivia woke with unease coiled in her chest. Lucas had barely slept, his body tense beside her, a silent sentinel even in rest. She rose before he stirred, pacing the chamber, her bare feet whispering across the cold floor.
Her mind replayed the scene of Darius’s collapse again and again. His confession had cracked Emily’s veil of certainty. But cracks did not always break walls—they could also be patched, reinforced, disguised. Emily was far too clever to let one pawn’s stumble undo the game she had built for years.
And Olivia knew
