The war council had ended hours ago, yet Aria couldn't sleep. The air in the Flameborn stronghold pulsed with restless magic, the very stones humming with anticipation of what was to come. She stood on one of the high balconies, her hands clutching the railing, silver moonlight painting her face in pale light. Below, the valley stretched out like an endless sea of darkness, waiting for dawn—or blood.
The bond between her and the triplets thrummed unevenly. She could feel them: Dorian simmering with quiet resolve, Tobias restless as a storm, Marcus brooding in shadows he thought he could hide from her. Their strength gave her grounding, yet tonight, something deeper tugged at her chest—a hollow ache she couldn't name.
A hand brushed against her shoulder, sending sparks along her skin. She didn't need to turn to know it was Tobias. His energy always carried fire and motion, his touch like lightning against her calm.
