The knock came softly at first.
Then again — louder, more deliberate — echoing through the marble corridors of the guest manor.
Kael's hand stilled on the cup he was setting down. Across the room, Nerine turned from the window, the morning light spilling over her pale hair like frost caught in gold.
Another knock.
He exhaled, low and sharp. "Stay here," he murmured, already heading for the door.
When he opened it, the air shifted — colder, sharper, threaded with the faint scent of smoke and metal.
A figure leaned casually against the doorframe, a wry smile curving his lips.
"Brother," Azaziel drawled. "You're hard to find, even in your own realm."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?"
Azaziel lifted both hands in mock surrender. "Now, now. Is that how you greet family?"
Before Kael could answer, a soft voice came from behind. "Kael…?"
