The Citadel never truly slept. Even after the battle, its corridors hummed with the whispers of magic, the soft padding of wolves on patrol, and the low murmur of strategists moving between rooms. Aria walked through the halls, her senses heightened, wolf coiled beneath her skin, every nerve attuned to the subtle changes in the air. Something lingered—an unease that wasn't physical, but strategic. The Council's attack had been more organized than expected. There were layers to their plans, secrets they had not revealed, and Aria intended to uncover every one of them.
Damien appeared at her side as always, silent, commanding, a predator whose mere presence grounded her. His gaze swept the hall, golden and calculating. "You feel it too," he said, voice low, intimate, carrying both warning and reassurance.
