[Damian]

The medical wing was an afterthought. I knew Lyra’s vitals; I knew her concussion was mild and her healing factor was already knitting the bruises back together. She was fine. My conscience should have been clear, but instead, it felt like it was being scraped raw.

I didn't head for the waiting room. I headed for the war room.

The air in the packhouse hallway was thick with the scent of unwashed adrenaline and the bitter, lingering tang of Alaric’s mood. When I reached the heavy ...