Alice's blade lowered just an inch—not in hesitation, but in preparation.
Her eyes hardened, their frost cutting deeper than steel. "So you admit it."
The Imposter's head cocked to the side, the smooth blankness of his "face" somehow twisting into mockery.
"Admit? My dear Lady, I boast. The Duke of the North is no small prey. To monitor his kin, his soldiers, his very bloodline… that is my art."
Alice's jaw tightened. She could feel the faint hum of the wards, broken and smothered, crawling against her senses. The Imposter's words weren't idle taunts—he truly had been lurking, watching, studying.
Julies.
Her thoughts flickered briefly to his steady presence at her side, his quiet loyalty, the unspoken trust they had built. The idea of some faceless monster's gaze prying into that bond made her blood boil.
"Demon or not," Alice said, her voice low and lethal, "you've made one mistake."
