Far ahead, lanterns flickered in the dark.
The carriage, dark with gold highlights, and bearing the crest of the Royal Academy of Magic, moved steadily along the road, guarded only by the cover of night and the insignia that marked its authority.
Rowe's teeth clenched. His daughter's killer was inside. The monster who dared take her life, the wretch who thought they could stain House Rowe's honor, destroy its legacy, and live.
"Forward!" He roared, his voice carrying like the call of a war horn.
The soldiers spurred their steeds, and the night erupted with the deafening thunder of hooves. Their charge shook the earth, the sound growing louder, closer, until it became a tide bearing down upon the solitary carriage.
The driver, perched at the front, must have heard it. The distant thunder of their charge, the glint of steel in the moonlight, the terrible inevitability of the storm.
