Cot.
Pale blankets.
Bloodstain on the edge of the basin.
But no Luneth.
No bindings. No trace of a fight.
Just gone.
He turned fast. "Where is she?"
Maeven smiled slowly, like he'd been waiting for that exact line.
"She's with him."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"She's with Dythrael," Maeven said, voice casual, like he'd just said she was at the market.
Lindarion blinked once.
Then stepped in.
Fast.
His fist slammed into Maeven's gut.
Or should have.
It stopped.
Mid-air.
Maeven's fingers caught his wrist without looking strained.
"You're angry," Maeven said. "Understandable."
"You handed her over."
"I brought her where she needed to be."
Lindarion jerked back, lightning sparking off his fingertips. "You're working with it."
Maeven tilted his head. "Of course I am."
No hesitation.
No guilt.
Just honesty, delivered like it was the weather.
"You helped summon that thing."
"I helped free him," Maeven corrected. "There's a difference."
"You're insane."
