She had been there the day he was born.
Of course she had to be, isn't it? That is the most natural thing for a grandmother.
The Elford wing of the Dominion's hospital had been sealed, every passage guarded, every attendant hand-picked and scrubbed in both mana and memory.
The moment Vivienne's labor began, Erin had already arrived—silent as ever, veiled in that dark-stained gold she always wore when something important was about to happen.
Not even Dominic had dared ask her why she came.
He knew.
Because this was her blood being born.
And when Damien Elford first opened his eyes—
Erin Valeheart had already seen his threads.
They glowed.
Not like most infants, whose threads were soft, clouded with potential and the blankness of innocence.
Damien's were taut. Sharp. Thick with meaning. His soul shimmered with intersections, probabilities cascading in hundreds of directions—many of them laced with power, consequence, danger.
An heir born of steel and mystery.
