The city of Tartarus unfolded before them like a wound in the mountainside—sharp-edged, cold, and controlled. Towers of dark stone rose from snow-blanketed streets, built to intimidate, not inspire. Crimson banners bearing the Cael sigil—flames devouring a serpent—hung from every wall, unmoving in the still air.
This was no bustling capital. This was a city of obedience.
And House Cael ruled it like gods with torches.
Seraphyne walked a step behind Solene as they slipped through the outer gate with their cloaks drawn low. No one stopped them. The guards barely glanced their way. Seraphyne's magic hummed quiet under her skin, shadow coiling around her like invisible armor. She could hide her presence well enough. But Solene? Solene was shaking.
Not from fear. From pressure. From rage she hadn't let out yet.
Seraphyne saw the way her hands clenched every time they passed a Cael crest. Saw the subtle way her breathing changed when soldiers marched past.
And more than anything, she saw the storm building behind Solene's silence.
Gods, she's going to shatter something soon.
The streets were clean. Too clean. No market noise, no street barkers, no children running through snowbanks. Just quiet, tense order. The kind of silence that didn't feel peaceful—just controlled.
"This city smells like iron and blood," Seraphyne muttered.
Solene didn't answer.
They passed a church-like structure—its windows bricked over, a tall stone priest watching from the entrance. He wore Cael red. Not holy robes.
Seraphyne stepped closer to Solene. She didn't know what she thought she could do, but she did it anyway.
"You don't have to go straight to the Estate," she said gently. "We could gather rumors first. Visit the taverns, ask the right people. I know how to slip through crowds."
Still no answer.
"Solene," Seraphyne said, reaching out, hand barely brushing her cloak.
Solene stopped.
The look she gave Seraphyne wasn't anger. It wasn't cold.
It was terrified.
Just for a second.
"She could be in a dungeon," Solene said, voice hoarse. "Alone. Hurt. And I'm out here playing it safe."
"You're not playing anything," Seraphyne said. "You're surviving. Thinking. That's what she would want you to do."
Solene didn't respond, but her breath hitched—just a little. Enough.
Seraphyne stepped fully in front of her now. Not blocking. Just… there.
"I've known a lot of people who chased vengeance," she said. "Even more who chased love. Most of them didn't know the difference."
Solene blinked, caught off guard by the words.
Seraphyne smiled faintly, uncertain why her chest felt tight. Why her voice dropped a little.
"But you're not like them."
"I don't know what I am," Solene whispered.
"You're someone who still has a reason to hope," Seraphyne said. "So don't give up on it yet."
Solene looked down, eyes unreadable. Then, softly: "Why are you trying so hard to keep me calm?"
Seraphyne opened her mouth. Then closed it.
Why was she?
She could have walked away after the wolves. After Gareth. She wasn't bound to Solene. She didn't owe her anything.
But something about the girl—no, the woman—who stood against her own family with frost in her blood and fire in her eyes...
She mattered.
And Seraphyne didn't want to lose her.
"I don't know," Seraphyne said quietly. "Maybe I just like the sound of your voice when it's not shaking."
That pulled a small breath out of Solene. Almost a laugh. Almost.
They stood there in the shadows of Tartarus, while the city exhaled cold smoke around them and secrets curled behind every door.
Seraphyne didn't take her hand.
But she stayed close.
And this time, Solene didn't pull away.
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