The war had ended, but Damien now found himself in a different kind of battle—one fought with whispers instead of swords, secrets instead of armies. Calder's death had left a void, and the Obsidian Circle was moving to fill it.
Damien stood in the war room, his steel-gray eyes scanning the intelligence reports scattered across the table. The symbol of the serpent coiled around a dagger appeared over and over again, marking intercepted letters and records of suspicious transactions.
Lord Evander Blackwell had been careful during their last meeting, but Damien had seen the flicker of recognition in his eyes when confronted with the sigil. Blackwell was connected to the Circle—whether as a pawn or a mastermind, Damien had yet to determine.
"I assume you didn't call us here to admire the paperwork?" Amara's voice broke the silence as she leaned against a nearby pillar, her sharp blue eyes filled with mischief.