Lucian's POV
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The echo of the slammed doors lingered long after Kyren's magic faded.
Lucian stood still at the foot of the dais, the silence in the throne room so heavy it pressed against his chest.
He could still feel the pulse of Kyren's power in the air — wild, ancient and untamed. And beneath it all, a slow, gnawing guilt that refused to let him breathe.
Elian hadn't moved.
The Omega stood a few steps away, violet eyes glinting beneath the fractured sunlight streaming through the high windows. The expression on his face was unreadable — too calm and way too distant for Lucian's liking.
He'd spent the night replaying every memory that had come crashing back into him. Every cruel word. Every moment of dismissal. Every pained look Elian had given him while he acted like a monumental jerk.
Gods, he remembered it all.
And he hated himself for it.
