Hadrian's mind began to stitch the pieces together, though his body recoiled from the answer. His mouth went dry, but the name slipped out anyway, hoarse and unwilling:
"Lazira…"
The sound of it clawed down his spine.
He had heard her name whispered in the gutters and muttered in the emperor's halls alike, always spoken with that peculiar mixture of fear and fascination. She was a shadow no torch could banish, a serpent coiled in silk. Men who fell into her snares begged for release yet returned crawling, ruined and grateful for it.
And now… she stood here. Alive. Breathing. All the whispers he had collected, all the tales that had seemed exaggerated, suddenly took shape before him. The predator was not a rumor. She was real, and she was watching him.
