Killian’s POV

The council chamber smells like old stone and older grudges.

I stand at the center of the circular room, hands clasped behind my back, spine straight, expression calm—carefully calm. The kind of composure that convinces others everything is under control even when the ground beneath us is cracking.

Around me, the elders take their seats one by one. Some avoid my eyes. Some study me too closely. Some are already afraid.

Good. Fear sharpens attention.

The assassins’ sigils ...