Ethan's POV
The corridors of Silverfang were too quiet — the kind of silence that carried judgment. My boots echoed faintly against the stone floors as I followed the servant through the dimly lit halls toward my father's council chamber.
When we reached the tall oak doors, the servant bowed quickly and withdrew. I lingered only a second before pushing them open.
My father stood at the window, his broad shoulders squared, his silhouette bathed in the pale glow of the full moon. His hands were clasped behind him, his head slightly bowed — as though in conversation with the night itself.
"You've brought chaos into this house, Ethan," he said, without turning. His voice was calm, almost casual, but beneath it ran the familiar steel.
I drew a breath. "I didn't know she was Blackwood, Father. Had I known, I would've used her differently."
He turned at that, slowly, and his eyes — gray and cold as winter stone — fixed on me.