Nova's POV
Ravenna came back at dawn.
No warning. No rider. No politely delivered threat at the gate.
Nova was standing at the window of the room Thorne's housekeeper had wordlessly assigned her watching the treeline, because she hadn't been able to sleep, because something in the way Ravenna had left felt less like retreat and more like preparation when the southern sky turned the wrong color.
Not sunrise orange. Not even storm grey.
Black. The spreading black of something enormous and very old unfolding its wings.
She was already moving before the first alarm bell rang.
The courtyard was chaos.
