Aria stood outside the chamber, her back pressed against the cold stone wall, the faint glow of the torches casting amber shadows on her face.
She had heard everything.
Not because she meant to—but because the walls of the Flameborn stronghold, ancient and cracked from centuries of battles and enchantments, were never designed for privacy. They were built for war, for strategy, for defense. Not for shielding hearts.
She pressed her hands to her chest as she breathed in slowly.
Rowan's voice had cut through the walls like a blade through silk. Soft. Steady. Frayed.
"Now I believe she gets to decide what I am to her."
Her eyes stung.
She thought she had buried those feelings. She thought the bond with the triplets—fierce, holy, forged in pain and love—had sealed every door behind her.
But then Rowan came back.
Not as a ghost.
As a man.
Broken. Changed. Real.
She didn't know how long she stood there. Long enough for their voices to quiet. Long enough for her soul to ache.
