Grimhold said nothing. His yellow eyes, for the briefest instant, flicked sideways, toward the black-glass sphere in his hand, as if checking whether the General on the other end of that connection had heard, and was, at this very moment, furious.
Then his gaze drifted. Past Raven. To the women.
They stood in loose clusters behind their lord, some still armored, some in the torn remains of dresses, some barefoot in the ash. Edda, dragon-scaled and silent. Seraphina, hovering, sea-green eyes cool and assessing.
Vivian, crowned, composed. Elena, hand on hilt. Kira the Nightmare, half-hidden behind a taller woman, violet eyes tracking Raven with the particular hunger of someone who had been claimed and had not yet stopped feeling the shape of it.
