You don’t watch Valen leave—your mind is already turning to sharper things. With a whisper of movement, you’re at the grand oak doors of your chambers, pushing them open with a force that sends them shuddering against the stone walls. The braziers lining the room flare to life as if sensing your anger, casting long, flickering shadows. “Lucian,” you call, the name slicing through the silence like a knife.

There’s no answer, but you don’t expect one. The spymaster is never where he seems to be. You stride to the center of the room, the message from the Blood Court still gripped in your hand. “Enough games,” you snap. “Show yourself.”

A breath of cold air stirs the tapestries. Then, from the darkest corner of the room, a figure materializes—tall, lean, wrapped in shadows that cling to him like a second skin. Lucian’s smile is a flash of white in the gloom. “You’re in a mood,” he observes, stepping into the light. His eyes, the color of tarnished silver, gleam with amusement. “The council?”

“They’re hiding something,” you say, tossing the unopened message onto the obsidian table between you. “And I want to know what it is before I step into that den of vipers at midnight.”

Lucian picks up the parchment, turning it over with delicate fingers. “Valen’s loyal,” he muses, “but loyalty can be... redirected.” His gaze lifts to yours. “Shall I dig?”

The question hangs in the air, thick with implication. You know what digging means—secrets spilled in blood, whispers torn from trembling lips. Lucian’s methods are never gentle. Outside, the wind howls against the castle walls, a chorus of ghosts.