Dusk in Solveil was a handover.
When the sun clocked out, white stone clocked in, glowing bright, still radiating heat. By the time the sky went fully dark, Solveil was brighter than it was during the day.
That was when Blair stopped walking.
Damon felt the stop through their joined hands before he saw it. Her fingers tightened once as her boots planted themselves. The tactical commander in the alley who had told a pimp to fuck off was now standing in the middle of a glowing street with her hood up and her mouth open.
"Oh," she said.
Blair Drakencrest had decorated two royal chambers in under four hours. She had opinions about thread counts that could end friendships. She had also spent her entire life surrounded by obsidian and firelight and war-grade architecture. And she was now looking at a city that glowed like it had been designed for the gods above.
Damon glanced over at her. "And she's speechless. I should write this down. First recorded instance."
