Chapter 88 Shadow Lines

• The moon hung heavy over the estate, casting silver lines through the war room’s tall windows. Everything was in motion now—tightening, shifting, pressing closer to an inevitable end. But in the eye of that storm, Amara stood still. Watching.
• She leaned against the edge of the table, dressed in black once again. Not silk this time, but leather—her armor. Her hair was still damp from the shower, curling slightly around her shoulders. Lucien had offered to draw her a bath. She’d refused. There was no time for softness. Not tonight.
• Lucien entered behind her, already dressed, already armed. Their marriage had been a battlefield once. Cold. Brutal. But now, they stood like co-conspirators in the fire. Not everything was healed. But everything was aligned.