Lucien POV

Bloodmoon had always had a pulse. I could sense it in the way the guards moved, in how orders were carried out, in how my name was spoken. Lately, that pulse felt uneven.

Not broken. Not violent.

Uneasy.

I stood on the upper balcony at dawn, watching patrols change shifts. Two guards spoke longer than necessary. Another avoided my eyes. A runner passed without bowing, then corrected himself too late.

Matteo joined me quietly.

“You feel it too,” he said.

“Yes,” I replied. ...