Adrian's POV
The cold doesn't bother me anymore—it mirrors what's settled inside me. The throne room is quiet save for the crackling of the torches. My knuckles are still red from training, but I keep grinding my fist against my palm, letting the pain distract me from the truth I refuse to accept. Elsa's words echo again in my skull: "She led them. Alana knew the hunters were waiting." I remember the fear in Alana's eyes that day in the woods, the silver cutting into her skin. And yet, now I doubt. I shouldn't, but I do. Damn me. She pleaded with me, tears streaking down her face, begging me to see reason, but all I could see was betrayal. The scent of blood. The faint shimmer of trust shattered on the floor. My bond to her pulls like a rope wrapped around my chest, but I ignore it—I have to. If I falter, if I let her explain, I might crumble, and I can't afford that. Not again.
