Selene’s POV
Night returned heavy and close, pressing against the windows like a second skin.
Snow slid sideways across the courtyard so that even the torches looked blurred—smears of orange behind white veils. From my balcony I could no longer see the far wall towers, only the ghostly pulse of their watch-fires. The fortress didn’t sound alive tonight; the usual clatter had fallen into a strange rhythm—measured footsteps, briefer whispers, doors opening and shutting with deliberate care.
Something was being prepared.
Eryndor slipped in without knocking, as if the shadow had peeled back and allowed him through. He carried the cold with him, and a string of unlit charms clicked softly against his sleeve.
“He’s called another private meeting,” he said.
“Malrik?” I asked, though I alrea
