The echo of their footsteps filled the vast council hall, a low, steady rhythm that matched the pounding in Alaric's chest. He walked just behind Adna, his eyes sharp, tracking the subtle sway of her dark silk gown, the glint of silver pins in her hair, the way her fingers toyed with a delicate iron key as they moved.
The fires he'd set earlier crackled faintly in the distant corners, their glow casting dancing shadows across the marble pillars and battered relics. Smoke drifted lazily toward the high arches, curling like the last breath of a dying beast.
Alaric was silent, his boots striking the cracked floor with measured precision. But inside, his mind raced.
She's hiding something.
Adna had never been an easy woman to read. She moved through life like a chess master — three steps ahead, her face a mask of cool amusement. But tonight, something was different. There was a tightness to her shoulders, a flicker of unease in her dark eyes when she thought he wasn't watching.
