Dawn comes too early.
Mist clings to the grass like breath on glass, curling at the edges of the estate gates as if reluctant to let us leave. I stand on the steps of Damon's Mansion, dressed in black travelwear, a sharp silhouette against the pale light. My sunglasses shield my eyes—not from the sun, but from sentiment.
Celeste stands beside me, arms crossed, a duffel slung over one shoulder. "Every journey with you ends in blood or betrayal," she says dryly.
I slide a ring onto my finger—the crest of a long-dead house. The silver glints like a ghost's grin. "That's because every road leads back to war."
The convoy waits. Two armored SUVs, one blacked-out limo for me and Celeste, and two trail cars for security. Behind us, a separate unit of sleek vehicles houses the Ironclad wolves. Damon rides in one of them, further back. Distant. As always.
I glance at my phone. No messages from Elara. No updates. No disasters. Yet.
I exhale slowly. Then I descend the stairs.
