The name Kasien Locke fell into the silent study like a shard of obsidian, and for a moment, the world seemed to freeze. Caelan felt a cold dread so profound, so ancient, it was like being plunged into the blackest depths of a winter sea. Two centuries. Two centuries since that name had been spoken aloud in a hall of power, and then only in furious, terrified whispers before it was officially scoured from the records.
Lucien, for all his practiced nonchalance, saw the change in his brother. He saw the shift from controlled anger to something far older and more dangerous. The air in the room grew heavy, charged with the weight of forgotten history.
"Kasien Locke is dead," Caelan stated, his voice a low, flat whisper. It was not a question. It was a fact. A truth the Council had paid a fortune in blood and gold to make real.
