An unexpected guest arrived.
That night, the high hall’s doors didn’t just open. They moved as if something unseen pressed on them, as if whatever stood beyond couldn’t be bothered with asking permission. The hush that followed was thick, not empty—like everyone, even the torches along the stone walls, waited for what had just stepped inside. Even those flames seemed to burn lower, unsure.
Nyra sensed it before she understood it.
No sound, no clear shape—just a strange shift, a wrongness that tightened deep in her chest. Her body recognized a memory her mind hadn’t caught up to, and for a second she tried to explain it away—paranoia, exhaustion, the messy residue of too many betrayals and too many nights waiting for disaster that always came in new disguises.
But then she turned.
And
