By the time they reached the capital, the snowfall had stopped. A pale mist hung in the air, and the streets glimmered faintly under the last traces of melting snow. The city was alive again, voices, wheels, and footsteps filling the air.
Some were shoveling the snow off the road.
None of the warriors had slept. The exhaustion was catching up to them.
"Let's get rooms first," he said, stepping down from his horse.
Ryan followed beside him, his breath misting in the cold. "Are we staying here, Alpha? What about the King?"
Kross didn't look at him. "We didn't come to visit him." His tone was flat, leaving no room for questions.
He walked straight to the carriage—the one carrying Lyra. Frost still lined the edges of the wheels. He stopped beside the door, brushing his gloved fingers against the cold metal before knocking once.
"Come out," he said quietly. "We're here."
Silence.
