Chapter 42

The fire crackled softly, filling the tent with a flickering glow as the scent of burning wood mixed with the faint tang of dried blood. Outside, the night pressed in, thick with the weight of unanswered questions.

We had won the battle, but the fight was far from over.

I sat on the edge of a wooden bench, rolling my shoulder as the ache from the ambush settled deep in my bones. My tunic was torn at the sleeve, exposing a fresh gash along my upper arm where a blade had skimmed too close. It was shallow but burned like hell.

Lucian stood near the table, his hands braced against the rough wood, his back to me. The tension in his shoulders hadn't eased since we had returned. His cloak was discarded, his dark tunic streaked with dried blood. Some his, some not.

He hadn't said much since the ambush. Since we discovered the truth.

"Sit," I said finally, breaking the silence.