Chapter 447 - The New Battle Hint (1)

The cloak still smelled of smoke and perfume — that curious blend of scorched cedar, spilled wine, and the faint citrus soap Clarisse favored when she'd tousled his collar earlier. As Lyan crossed the estate's gallery, the lingering warmth of those hearth‑room jokes seemed to trail after him in delicate wisps. Each torch he passed hissed softly where rain crept in through cracked windowpanes, and that hiss joined the muted thump of his boots to compose a restless rhythm. Half the sconces had guttered out during the last hour, leaving long tunnels of shadow between scallops of amber light. It felt like walking through a dream that was still deciding whether to become a nightmare or a memory.