Morning came slowly, dragging with it a suffocating sense of unease.
A pale light crept over the Riley's mansion, illuminating sleepless faces and bloodstained courtyards that had yet to be fully cleaned.
The night's events weighed heavily on everyone's hearts.
Their numbers had dwindled—far more than anyone was willing to say out loud—and those who remained moved with guarded steps, eyes sharp and wary, as if danger might strike again at any moment.
Just as the household struggled to steady itself, the sound of hooves and armored footsteps echoed beyond the gates.
An unexpected visitor had arrived early in the morning.
The man who stood at the entrance was large, his frame thick with muscle rather than excess, suggesting years spent in battlefields and council halls alike.
His face was stern and weathered, carved by authority and discipline.
He carried himself like someone who had never needed to raise his voice to be obeyed.
