(Catherine POV)
The morning after the attack dawned gray and cold, matching my mood perfectly as I surveyed the damage Blackwood's rogues had inflicted on what I'd come to consider home. Shattered windows let autumn wind whistle through corridors that should have been warm, broken furniture lay scattered like the bones of some great beast, and bloodstains painted abstract patterns on walls that had stood for centuries without witnessing such violence.
Lucas found me in the main hall, standing amid the wreckage with my sleeves rolled up and my hair pinned back in preparation for work rather than mourning.
"Miss Catherine," he said carefully, "perhaps you should rest. Last night was... traumatic. No one would think less of you for taking time to—"
"To what?" I interrupted, hefting a piec
