The Citadel’s great hall echoed with the last echoes of battle. Torches guttered in iron sconces, casting long shadows across blood-streaked stone. Outside, the frozen lake reflected a swollen full moon, silver light pouring through tall arched windows like liquid mercury. The nine men stood in a loose circle around Emily—exhausted, wounded, alive.
Caspian’s coat hung in tatters; a deep gash across his ribs still seeped. Leon leaned against a pillar, one hand pressed to a stab wound in his side. Thorne’s massive arms were crisscrossed with claw marks. Jax favored his left leg. Kai’s shoulder bled steadily. Ronan’s dark jacket was shredded, revealing raw gashes. Elias stood straight despite the arrow graze across his collarbone. Victor’s glasses were cracked, one lens missing, ink-stained
