Kaelen's POV.
The door to the Emperor's chambers splintered open under the weight of my shoulder.
The bond had gone from a dull ache to a flat, terrifying silence, and I knew.
Fenrir was slumped against the heavy oak desk, his head resting on a pile of scattered maps. His breathing was shallow, his skin had gone pale.
The seal of the Iron Fang lay on the floor, knocked over by his hand.
"Fenrir!" I roared.
I reached him in two strides.
I gathered him into my arms, hauling his dead weight against my chest. He was freezing. The heat that usually radiated from his core had vanished, replaced by a cold.
I carried him toward the bed, my muscles straining. As I turned, I saw Varro standing in the doorway. He had followed me, his presence a heavy, pulsing shadow.
Varro didn't move or try to help. He simply stepped aside, his back against the stone wall, clearing the path with a face of absolute, quiet neutrality.
