The night after the attack still hung thick over the village, and the scent of blood hadn't yet faded from the air. Raven stood outside the ruins of the granary, her clothes torn, her hands caked in dried crimson. The village priest had tried to offer a prayer, but she had brushed him off.
"I need answers, not prayers," she muttered.
She hadn't spoken to Eryk since he'd dragged her out of the flames. The memory of his hands on her waist, the weight of his body against hers, haunted her in a way she couldn't admit. Not now. Not with what was coming.
By dusk, he found her. Alone. Watching the horizon like it owed her something.
"I know what you are," he said softly.
She turned slowly, her eyes unreadable. "Say it, then."
"You're marked by the Nightborne."
A pause.
"And you?" she asked, stepping toward him. "What are you hiding, Eryk of Nowhere?"
His silence was an answer in itself.