The western audience hall grew quieter after Lucien's confession.
Not calmer.
Just quieter in the dangerous way storms sometimes paused before tearing apart entire cities.
Snow continued drifting beyond the palace windows while candlelight flickered softly across the scattered archive documents covering the table. Somewhere deeper inside the palace, distant footsteps echoed through marble corridors as guards rushed between emergency council meetings and sealed academy reports.
The empire was moving now.
Too slowly.
But moving.
Selene stood near the center of the room with arms crossed loosely against her chest, crimson eyes lowered toward the silver pendant resting against her collarbone. The faint pulse beneath the metal had grown stronger over the course of the evening.
Not painful.
Worse.
Alive.
Every instinct inside her body felt sharper now. The rustle of fabric. The shift of breathing across the room. The heartbeat hidden beneath silence.
