The Silvercrest archives smelled of dust, iron, and old magic.
Aria preferred the training grounds. Steel and sweat were easier to understand than secrets pressed between brittle pages. But Lyr had insisted there were answers hidden in the vault beneath the eastern tower—answers about the Moonfire bloodline and the whispers circling the rogue attacks.
So here she was, kneeling on the cold stone floor, surrounded by stacks of forgotten journals.
“You know,” Kaden drawled from where he leaned against a shelf, arms folded, “most people sneak off to abandoned towers for romantic reasons.”
Aria didn’t look up. “If you’re about to compare ancient war records to candlelit dinners, I will set your boots on fire.”
A pause.
“…You wouldn’t.”
She lifted her gaze, and a faint silver flame flicke
