Where We Burn
Madeline
None of us spoke as we left the infernal chamber.
Lucien moved first, without ceremony or command, and the rest of us followed—Zyrean at my side. The council hadn’t dismissed us. No one had dared. We simply left them sitting in their thrones of smoke and stone and silence, their gazes pinned to Lucien’s retreating back like they still weren’t sure if he was truly real or a storm conjured too suddenly to survive.
The red-haired demoness hadn’t said another word.
She’d held my gaze for just a heartbeat longer than necessary, her expression unreadable, and then she’d smiled—thin, wry, and utterly unbothered. But she didn’t stop me. None of them did. Not even when I walked out beside him, unburnt and unbroken.
The heavy doors slammed shut behind us like the exhale
