Azrakar sat still, his gaze unfocused, yet his senses were sharp—attuned to every flicker of candlelight, every breath in the room. To anyone who might have walked in, he would’ve seemed lost in thought. But Azrakar was never truly lost. He was listening to the silence.

Rosalinda lay curled on the velvet couch, her chest rising and falling in a deep, enchanted sleep. The herbal tea Seraphine had brewed had worked quickly, as intended. Now, with the mortal girl resting, Seraphine turned her ...