The estate pulsed with preparation. Guards hurried past her in clusters, weapons polished in the torchlight. The air crackled with unease, as though the walls themselves knew something dangerous was afoot.
Marcella slipped through the commotion. She knew Berith was many things, calculating, merciless, infuriating—but reckless? Not usually. And yet here he was, risking his life without a word to her.
He hadn't trusted her enough to tell her.
That thought stung deeper than she wanted to admit.
She finally burst out into the courtyard, breathless. The night air hit her like a splash of cold water, carrying the hum of crickets. Torches lined the walls, their flames licking high into the velvet dark.
Somewhere beyond these walls, Berith was walking straight into the jaws of danger. Alone.
