Mist curled thick around the towers of Evermere, clinging to stone like silk. Azriel had no intention of finding anyone—not today, not ever—but the climb called to him anyway, curiosity sharper than any blade. Each handhold was slick with dew, each step echoing in the silence of the misty forest below.
At the highest window, faint light glimmered through cracked shutters. He paused, peering inside, and there—something alive moved within the room, a figure framed by moonlight, reading, humming, or simply existing in a way that made the tower feel less empty.
He crouched low, watching. No orders had led him here, no rescue planned, yet the quiet pull of this presence made him hesitate at the edge of the room. Whoever—or whatever—they were, they had his attention now.
