Enzo's POV
The moment we stepped out of the Grand Hall, the air changed.
Inside, it had been thick with politics and power every breath I took felt measured, like if I breathed too loudly, I'd be marked for death. Outside, the corridors were colder, emptier, but somehow that was worse.
Alaric walked with that same quiet certainty he always had, his coat shifting around him like it moved with a will of its own.
I stayed close not because he'd told me to, but because I didn't trust these halls to let me walk them alone.
When we rounded a corner, I caught movement at the far end a figure stepping back into shadow before I could make out their face. I slowed, but Alaric didn't.
"You'll get used to it," he said, without looking back.
"Used to what?"
"Eyes on you. Ears on you. Whispers in the dark." His voice was calm, like he was explaining the weather.
