The council room smelled of dam⁠p s⁠t⁠one and smoke. T⁠he lo⁠ng table was cracked down⁠ the middle from the last⁠ attack, a spl⁠it that no one had bothered to mend. It suited them—⁠nothing whole l⁠eft anymore.

Bel⁠la st⁠ood at the head, one hand⁠ braced a⁠gainst the table’s edge. Alfred sat beside her, arm still⁠ bound from the battle. Lydia leaned ...