"Hunt with law in your teeth; let mercy wait until the prey tells you why it bled."
The hour that followed my arrival stretched like a wound that would not close, silent, taut, and pulsing. Outside the villa, ash feathered the air; inside, the parlor that served as command felt consecrated by suffering. We cleared the furniture into neat alcoves, rolled rugs away from blood dark stains, and lit lamps that made the smoke-laced room seem smaller and more intimate.
The space smelled of iron and pine and the sour tang of adrenaline; every surface held a smudge of the battle. I had shifted back to human form, Alaric, though Vayne's animal insistence trembled at my edges. The wolf wanted collision and retribution; the King wanted plans and proof. Elias sat against my shoulder like an anchor thrown into stormwater. The bond thrummed between useless a cry now than a slow, steady drum reminding me what I held and what I would lose if I failed.
