SERAPHINA'S POV
By the time everyone gathered, the sun had shifted higher, pale light filtering through the tall windows of the main conference hall and stretching across the long table in muted bands.
The brightness did nothing to soften the tension in the room. If anything, it made everything feel too exposed, too clear, as if there was nowhere to hide from what we were facing.
Kieran stood at the head of the table, one hand braced against its surface, the other resting loosely at his side.
He looked composed, controlled, but I knew him well enough to recognize the strain beneath his facade—the white-knuckled grip of his hand, the jaw tight with barely checked tension, the stillness that wasn’t calm so much as contained force.
I took a seat to his right, aware—acutely, this time—of where I was placing myself.
Not at the edge. Not in the background.
By his side.
Ethan, Maya, Corin, Maris, and Brett arrived together.
No one lingered on greetings. No one wasted time.
