Neutral Ground – The Same Warehouse – Two Hours Before Dawn
The warehouse hadn't changed since Alistair left it. Same rusted beams. Same broken conveyor belt. Same cold air that smelled of decay and forgotten industry.
Voss hadn't moved from her spot against the wall. Her silver hand glowed faintly, the only light in the dark. She'd been waiting for an hour. She didn't mind waiting. She'd spent years waiting—for revenge, for redemption, for a chance to make things right.
The door creaked.
Alistair walked in first. His weapon was drawn, but his posture was loose. Ready, not hostile.
Behind him came Lucian.
The boy looked calm. Too calm. His eyes swept the warehouse, cataloging exits, cover, threats. He didn't draw his blades, but his hands hung near the hilts.
Voss watched him approach. She remembered the cave. The way he'd moved. The runes. The cold fury in his eyes when the Glimmertongue used his sister's voice.
"Alistair," she said. "Lucian."
