Velrosa stood like a dagger unsheathed—leaned over the vast oaken desk in the study, the firelight painting her face in deep lines of gold and shadow.
Around her, the form of loyalty took shape: Eli stood with arms crossed like a statue of war, Elise with her cold, calculating gaze sharpened into steel, Black Rat lounging against the bookcase with his usual rogueish grin, and Ian...Ian who leaned in silence by the fireplace, arms folded, eyes like smoldering coal fixed on her with neither doubt nor devotion.
Only focus.
Outside, the wind howled through the high towers of House Elarin, as if the city itself braced for something terrible to begin.
"I have become a threat," Velrosa said softly, but her voice carried like a bell tolling across a battlefield. "To the Council. To the old blood. To the order that grips Esgard with a dying hand. And I would be a fool to think they will allow me to continue breathing."
She looked at each of them—truly looked.
Measured.
