Devon left before dawn, even before the kitchens stirred, before the guards changed shifts, and before Elias woke with sleep-heavy eyes searching for "Mommy Devon."
He left silently, as he had come into this place, unseen, unheard, unmissed… or so he convinced himself.
His fever still clung to him like a second skin, his breath shaky, his body weak from nights of overusing magic and the shock of seeing the stranger, his brother, appear in his room. But the weight crushing his chest was heavier than any sickness.
It's all my fault.
The massacre. The poison. The fear in Elias's tiny voice when he cried. The way the vampires demanded the Luna. The existence of a brother he never knew. The truth about his bloodline, something dark, something hunted.
He slipped into his pants and grabbed the first cloak he found. It was thin, not enough for the cold dawn air. He wore no boots. They would make noise.
