Soren would have accompanied Riven himself—he hated letting him out of his sight—but Nicholas' escape had to come first. That filthy snake was crawling somewhere out there, bleeding, desperate, a cornered rat. Soren had sent his men scouring the streets, searching every shadow, every alleyway.
"He couldn't have gotten far," Soren muttered under his breath for the fifth time, though no one had asked. His voice was low, strained, the kind that made even seasoned soldiers stand straighter.
The first wave of scouts returned. Empty-handed.Nothing. No blood trail. No scent.
Impossible.
Soren's jaw clenched until his teeth ached. His nails bit into the wood of the war table, leaving little crescent marks as he glared down at the men who dared bring him nothing. "Expand the perimeter. Search again. Tear this city apart if you have to," he snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut. "Bring me his corpse. I don't care how."
