SIENNA’S POV

Cosette led me down the hallway like she was escorting me to my execution.

The place was too quiet. Every sound — her heels, the rustle of my dress, the faint hum of the lights — felt sharp enough to cut air.

The walls were lined with old portraits of men with eyes like frozen knives. Their names were carved in gold under the frames, all carrying that same word: Bloodcrest.

Cosette stopped at a heavy wooden door with a silver handle shaped like a wolf’s fang. Without ...