The Blood Matriarch stood frozen, her gaze locked onto the shivering, vomit-caked mess that was once the most feared manipulator in the Union. The Deacon. The man who had laced her life with poison, who had turned her most trusted allies against her, and who had forced her into a life of shadows and bitterness.
The weight of her past betrayals felt like a physical coldness in her chest, but as she looked at the broken man at her feet, that coldness began to thaw into a searing, white-hot heat.
"I hope you find the gift to your liking," Ethan said, his voice cutting through the silence like a silk ribbon. "And thank you, Matriarch... for looking after this place while I was 'away.'"
The Matriarch let out a sudden, sharp laugh—a sound that was half-sob and half-triumph. Tears began to trace paths through the dust on her cheeks, but her eyes were not soft. They were predatory.
