The throne room doors opened with a long, groaning sound—so deep it echoed in the base of my spine.
As if the castle itself had held its breath, waiting for the moment to reveal its cruelest hand.
First came the lycan sentinels. Eight, maybe ten, in perfectly synchronized formation. Behind them, two familiar figures: Tara and Nicole, the cousins, walked with their chins raised, eyes hard—and yet… something was off. Not pride. Not victory. More like guilt. Or a mask trying to contain it.
And then I saw them.
Kael and Lean.
They wore plain clothing, and they were still chained.
They were pushed to the center of the hall with ceremonial brutality.
Their bodies bore the marks of captivity: fresh cuts, dark bruises along their ribs, deep scratches that hadn’t fully healed.
On their wris
