The chamber doors groaned on their ancient hinges as they swung inward, the sound reverberating through the hall as Vael stepped in. Theon followed a half-step behind him.
Fourteen pairs of eyes turned toward them. The Nightwalker Council sat in their usual arrangement, their faces a gallery of stern expectation and barely concealed curiosity.
Vael's gaze swept the room with practiced neutrality, cataloging each face, then he saw him.
Lucious Vaeroth.
He occupied a chair at the far end of the table. A position that granted him visibility without granting him authority, a strategic placement that allowed observation without participation.
The patriarch sat with his legs crossed at the ankle, his posture deceptively relaxed and his hands folded in his lap with careful composure. His eyes met Vael's across the expanse of the room.
And something passed between them, not quite a challenge, not quite acknowledgment, but something far more dangerous.
