The days after Lucian's message were filled with tension, but not the tension of the Rift, not the tension of battle, not the sharp edge of fear that had accompanied our descent into the darkness. This was something different, a quiet, waiting tension that settled over Frosthold like a blanket of snow, muffling sounds, softening edges, and making every moment feel suspended, held in abeyance.
The warriors trained, their swords clashing in the training yard, their shouts echoing off the stone walls. The scouts patrolled, their horses' hooves crunching on the frozen ground, their eyes scanning the horizon for signs of Cassian's agents. The messengers came and went, their satchels heavy with reports, their faces pale with the weight of the news they carried.
But in the spaces between, there was silence.
And in that silence, Kaelen waited.
