The room they had been given was small, airless, and dim. Once a storage space in the eastern wing of Northridge’s fortress, it now served as a mockery of a home for the men who once ruled the land. The cracked walls still bore faint marks of fire, and every gust of wind that crept through the broken window carried the stench of ash and humiliation.

Logan sat hunched on the edge of a rough wooden bench, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. His back still bore the angry welts from ...