The storm answered before anyone spoke.
A low rumble rolled across the darkened glass of the high arched windows—distant, heavy, and deliberate, as though the heavens themselves had lowered their heads to listen in on the quiet squabble within the Storm Lord's study
Soren was the first to break the stillness. He shifted his weight, resting his spine against the edge of the table. Crossing his arms tightly over his chest, he picked at a loose thread on his dark leather doublet, keeping his gaze fixed on the man sitting behind the massive desk.
"You should know," Soren said carefully, his voice dropping into a measured cadence, "that the young lady of the Raventhorn bloodline might very well sit at the very center of this spiderweb. A discarded woman with a grand name is a dangerous thing, Valerian. She believes herself utterly scorned, and a woman who thinks she has been deprived of her right rarely acts out of reason. She acts out of sheer, unadulterated venom."
