Lucien’s POV

The west chamber still smelled the same. Almost like I never left.

I ran a hand along the back of one of the carved chairs as I entered, tracing the same grooves I’d once gripped before a battle briefing. The table was bare now, but the memories clung to it.

Matteo stood by the window, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the distant courtyard. The evening light cut across his face, turning the scar at his temple into a thin, golden line.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. I just ...