She stood slowly, brushing dust from her palms, already knowing what she’d find before she reached his usual perch.
Nothing.
Just a ghost of warmth in the stone where he’d been.
“Where is he?” she asked, too sharp.
Lira looked up, brows pinched. “Gone.”
Seraphine’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean, gone?”
“He left sometime before dawn,” Alek said without looking at her. “Didn’t say a word.”
She swallowed against the rising knot in her throat.
Of course he left. Of course he didn’t say goodbye. He thought he was protecting her.
The arrogant, noble,stupidbastard.
She stormed back toward the center of camp, grabbing her blade, her satchel, anything she could carry. Her hands trembled as she strapped the shard pouch to her belt.
“Where are you going?” Brann asked, voice small.
She didn’t look at him. “To bring him back.”
“He doesn’t want?—”
“I don’t care.”
Her words cracked like a whip.
Lira stepped forward, uncertain. “You think you know where he went?”
Seraphine nodded once. “The next shard. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Alek frowned. “You’re not cleared to move. Orders were to remain here until further instruction from the Court.”
She froze. Turned slowly.
“You think I give a damn about the Court right now?”
“The Emperor?—”
“Canburn,” she snarled. “I’m done letting that man dictate who I stand beside.”
The others fell silent.
Suddenly, a sharp noise split the air. Clapping.
Not from the camp. From the trees.
Dozens of figures emerged from the mist. Clad in obsidian armor with the Drakar crest gleaming like fresh blood across their chests.
At their head was a man with eyes like molten silver and a cold, elegant smile.
Captain Varros. Her father’s favorite blade.
“Lady Seraphine,” he drawled. “So nice to see your defiance is still intact.”
