The siege holds its shape as the hours stretch thin, and the vampire lines do not advance or retreat but instead maintain a patient disciplined arc along the ridges that signals control rather than desperation, and the longer they hold that position the more the pressure seeps into the packhouse like slow rising water.
I keep my breathing measured because every spike in emotion sends subtle ripples through the borders, and I refuse to give them unnecessary signals, but the tether beneath my ribs remains taut and alert, and I can feel the land listening as much as I am.
Lucian requests to speak again.
Not through shouting.
Not through provocation.
He simply stands in the center of his cell with that infuriating composure and waits until we come down to him, because he knows we will.
A
