(Vesper POV)
The tower corridor smelled of cold stone and cooling wax, the same scent that had clung to my leathers for weeks now—ever since he started spending nights in that cursed chamber instead of the war room. I moved like a shadow myself, boots silent on the runner, dagger already drawn and reversed along my forearm. No whip tonight. No theatrics. Just steel and intent.
The guards at the landing were mine—two of the last who still answered to me instead of him. They stepped aside without a word. One even looked away, shameflicker in his eyes. They knew what I was here to do. They didn't stop me. That alone should have told me how far the fracture had spread.
I pushed the door open with my shoulder. No knock. No announcement.
