Rain continued to descend upon the city in silver threads that blurred the glowing streetlights into rivers of pale gold, and Elara stood motionless in the middle of the deserted café street while cold wind wrapped around her like unseen hands tightening slowly against her lungs.
Damien Cross remained at the far end of the road beneath the shadows, silent and watching with the stillness of a predator that understood patience better than hunger, yet for the first time since his appearance—Elara barely noticed him.
Because Alexander's words had struck deeper than fear.
Deeper than instinct.
Straight into memory.
"You're a Queen."
The sentence echoed violently through her mind while thunder rolled above the city skyline, and her body betrayed her completely as her breath faltered for one brief humiliating second beneath the weight of recognition she had spent years trying to bury.
Not many people knew.
Not truly.
Most guessed.
Most feared.
