Chris walked into his room like a man trying to outrun his own nerves.
Not running, he refused to give the palace the satisfaction of seeing him run, but the door shut behind him a little harder than it needed to, and the air he dragged in with him felt sharper, colder, as if the corridor's tension had followed him on his shoes.
Tania was on the rug, immediately lifting her head, ears flicking once in that feline way that pretended indifference while cataloguing everything. She rose, stretched with exaggerated luxury, and then, because she was a traitor who had chosen her loyalties, she followed Chris with purposeful little steps and stationed herself directly in front of him like a barrier.
Rowan was already there.
