The Citadel had never felt small to Aria before.
It had always risen around her like something eternal. Stone veined with silver. Towers cutting into the sky like the bones of ancient gods. A place built to outlive doubt.
Tonight it felt like a cage with polished floors.
She stood at the balcony outside Damien's war chamber, the wind dragging at her hair, carrying the scent of rain and iron. Below, the city lights flickered in restless patterns. Wolves moved through the streets in disciplined lines. Patrols had doubled. No one was saying the word war yet.
But everyone was sharpening for it.
Behind her, the chamber doors opened.
She didn't turn.
She knew the rhythm of his footsteps.
Damien did not rush. He did not hesitate. He moved like a verdict.
"You shouldn't be alone out here," he said.
His voice was low, controlled. Too controlled.
"I'm not alone," she replied quietly. "The entire Council is breathing down my neck."
A pause.
Then he stepped beside her.
