The body is still warm when Kael reaches the crossing.
That is the worst part.
Not the blood. Not the candle wax melted down Lio’s chest, dripping white against dark fabric like mockery of prayer. Not even the way his eyes stare open, unfocused, as if he is still trying to notice something important.
It’s the warmth.
Proof that this was not distant.
Not inevitable.
Not an old consequence finally surfacing.
This was recent.
Kael drops to his knees without thinking. Stone bites through his trousers. He barely feels it.
Irena is already there, hands shaking as she presses two fingers to Lio’s neck, as if refusing to accept what every instinct already knows. Her breath stutters once, sharp and broken.
“No,” she whispers. “No, no, no…”
Rowan stands a step back, face grim, jaw locked
