The cabin they gave me was luxurious, yes—more mana-regulated marble, glowing vines on the walls, and windows that adjusted their tint based on my mood—but all of it felt hollow. Like sitting in a velvet-lined cage. I had my arms crossed, legs folded, and my forehead crumpled like I was personally offended by the weather.
The sky outside was darkening. The Eastern skyline always did that thing where it looked like the horizon was brooding. Fitting. So was I.
I ground my teeth hard enough that the cabin's lighting dimmed a notch, as if the room itself was trying to help me vent. It didn't help.
Then I sighed and unclenched everything. No point gnashing my teeth into powder. As much as I wanted to be furious at my father—King of the Creighton family, Ninth Circle mage, general pain in Arthur's ass—I couldn't quite summon the hatred I wanted. Not really.
