The Puppeteer

Talon’s POV

The wind whistled through the courtyard, cold and sharp. I tightened the scarf around my neck, glancing at the sky where dark clouds were already coming out. The storm last night hadn’t cleared the air — it had only made everywhere colder.

My boots crunched over gravel as I crossed toward the side gardens, drawn by the faint sound of laughter. Not many dared to linger outside this morning, not with the ...