The first light of morning crept into Lucian's chamber, a pale gold that should have been warm, but instead felt cold against his skin. The air was still heavy with the memory of last night—the echo of footsteps that weren't his own, the fleeting silhouette that had led him through the courtyard, and the place where Reniel's body had lain broken.
By the window, Lucian stood in silence, one hand resting on the sill, his gaze lost somewhere beyond the gardens. He wasn't seeing the gentle sway of the roses in the breeze. He was seeing the flash of a golden-and-silver ring glinting in the moonlight—the mark of a high noble. The image lodged itself in his mind like a thorn, digging deeper with every passing second.
The bloody letter's message still burned into him: BE CAREFUL OF WHOM YOU MINGLE WITH, YOU ARE NEXT.
A warning… or a taunt. He couldn't decide which.
Either way, the truth was unchanging: the shadow was watching him. Waiting. And if he did nothing, it would strike.
