Chaos swallowed the Great Hall like a living thing.
Smoke from overturned braziers rolled thick and choking across the black-and-white marble, turning the grand space into a battlefield of grey haze and flickering flames.
Somewhere in the smoke and screams, the bond screamed with three voices at once, furious, terrified, and hunting.
But she was far from their reach.
A hand clamped over Seren's mouth from behind.
Not rough. Precise. Professional.
"Quiet, little Bridge," a familiar voice hissed in her ear, cold and venomous. "Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."
Greaves.
The senior household steward with the ever-polished silver buttons, the man everyone believed had been executed weeks ago after his treason was exposed. He wasn't dead. He had simply gone to ground, waiting patiently for the perfect moment of chaos to strike.
