The iron was hot. I kept my hands steady, feeling the heat radiate through the leather of my gauntlets. It was a specific kind of heat, sharp and demanding, unlike the cold damp that settled in the bones of the castle walls. I was the King’s right hand. That was the title they gave me in the court. The blade that did not waver. The shield that did not break. I had trained for this since I was a...
The alarm did not chime. It screamed.
It was a digital shriek, bright and sterile, piercing the thin walls of the unit. Elias Vance sat up. His knees popped. The sound was small, a dry crack like twigs underfoot, but it echoed in his skull. He was sixty-four. His body was a map of failures, a topography of aches that had settled into the stone of his bones. He looked at the clock. 03:14. The...
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended gray curtain that blurred the edges of the world against the windowpane of Arthur’s office. He sat in the heavy oak chair, the leather creaking softly under his weight, watching the droplets trace their slow, inevitable paths down the glass. The room was dim, lit only by the amber glow of a single desk lamp that cast long, distorted...
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