CHAPTER 22: The Border Fires
The wind smelled like smoke when we reached the border.
Not fresh flames. Old ones.
Memories still burning in the ash.
The village of Thornehill had once been a trade hub, nestled between vampire territory and the human valleys to the south. Now it stood quiet. Shuttered windows. Tense silence. Scorch marks on the stone road.
Something had happened here.
And it hadn’t healed.
We arrived just after dawn, our cloaks billowing in the wind. Lucien rode beside me, silver armor gleaming, his sword strapped to his back not drawn, but visible.
A statement.
Zara followed behind us, flanked by peacekeepers wearing neutral colors. No royal crests. No weapons out.
Still, the villagers stared.
Their eyes followed me the way frightened people stare at storms—hopin
