The hallway felt alive, almost sentient. Every polished surface reflected tension; every shadow was a warning. Helena stood at the center, the calm eye in a storm of coiled rage and suppressed fear. Her sons flanked her, bodies taut, minds laser-focused. Lucian’s presence, cold and magnetic, radiated through the corridor like electricity, testing, prodding, measuring the walls of their resolve.

He had faced them before—and he remembered the sting of defeat, the sharp taste of being ...