The Citadel never truly slept.
Even in the dead of night, faint pulses ran through its stones, remnants of the wards and the energy Aria had woven into its foundation. Magic hummed softly, whispering secrets of the land and the people who lived upon it. Aria felt each whisper like a brush against her consciousness, a hundred tiny currents tugging her attention in multiple directions at once.
Damien was already awake when she surfaced from the warmth of their shared bed. He stood by the eastern window, shoulders broad, hands clasped behind him, the dim light of dawn highlighting the sharp angles of his face. His eyes were golden, alert, every ounce of him poised to respond to whatever threat the Council might send next.
"You're early," she murmured, voice hoarse from yesterday's exertion. Her wolf stirred restlessly beneath her skin, still alive with the residue of the battle.
