Kieran’s POV

The shadows are restless tonight.

They crawl along the stone walls of my study like living veins, reacting to my pulse, my breath, my anger. I’ve barred the door with sigils older than the packhouse itself, layered wards humming low beneath my boots. No one will interrupt me. No one can.

I finally understand something is wrong.

Not new-wrong. Not Scarlett-wrong.

Old-wrong.

The kind that waits patiently until you’re too tired to ignore it anymore.

I spread the texts ...