>>Aelin
The hall was still, the tension thick. I sat beside Draegon at the long obsidian table, my fingers loosely intertwined in my lap as the Owl Advisor—a tall, stooped creature with round eyes far too perceptive for comfort—cleared his throat.
"Your Majesty," he said, directing his gaze to Draegon. "The missing persons reports are continuing to climb. Patrols are already in place, but… it isn't slowing."
A murmur of disapproval fluttered through the council chamber.
Vesper, lounging half across her chair with her usual casual elegance, let out a long sigh. "How are people still going missing with so many patrols out already? What are they even doing?"
"They're leaving," Draken said, his voice hard and flat. "Of their own will. They're still chasing the promise of power."
I glanced toward him. His crimson eyes were narrowed, unreadable. "You mean the black milk."
