Page 33 of The Midnight Death Match

“Yes.” He steps protectively next to me, checking his palm. No glow.

Mine doesn’t react to these people, either.

Her gaze shifts to me next, from my eyes to my jaw. Her expression tightens. “It’s true. You have adaughter. Is she the huntress, as people claim?”

I lift my chin. “Yes. My name is Eira.”

Another whisper rolls through the room, a pulse of suspicion. Not outright fear, but the attention makes my skin tight and my breath sharp.

Einar steps forward. “We’re not here to make enemies.”

“We have enough of those.” The silver-tattooed woman gestures toward a cleared stone bench. “Rest. You’ve found us. Let’s see if you understand us.”

We barely sit before a high and clear magical chime rings through the chamber. The scholars rise as one, parting like a tide drawn by unseen gravity.

Lysandros steps through the same ripple we used moments ago, though it bends more gently around him, as if familiar with him. His cloak shifts from storm-gray to violet-black as he moves. He doesn’t smile exactly, but there’s a knowing gleam in his eyes when they land on me.

“Huntress,” he says, voice smooth and steady. “You’ve made good time.”

“You knew we were coming. How?”

He steps fully into the circle. “The wind here is talkative.”

I’m not sure how to respond to that.

The others settle as if he’s part of the group. A few scholars defer instantly, sliding notes across the table toward him. He glances at each with the ease of someone who’s read more than they speak.

Harek tenses beside me.

Einar, to his credit, offers only a curt nod. “You know the city well.”

“I should,” Lys says, unbothered. “I spent most of my life here before it fell. Though I’d appreciate you not telling my mother.”

My father jolts and blinks rapidly before quickly recovering. “Clearly.”

I give him a questioning look, which he returns with a confused expression.

He doesn’t know who Lysandros’s mother is, though it sounds like he should.

I return my focus to the noble fae. “And you stayed here instead of going somewhere better?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t you do anything to restore your home to its former glory if it crumbled?”

The question hits deep because I don’t have a home. Einar’s place is growing more like home, but it’s still just a place I’m staying at this point. I clear my throat and change the subject. “Where were you from before living here?”

“Your father can tell you.”

That answer doesn’t satisfy, but it quiets the room. It’s clear Einar won’t be able to tell me anything.

Lys turns his attention to the center table where a map lies splayed between glowing stones. Burn marks and ink stains obscure key routes, but the main arteries into Courtsview’s core are visible.

“This is where the pressure builds,” one of the scholars says, tapping a mark near the west wall. “We’ve lost four scouts in two weeks.”

Lys doesn’t look up. “Because you keep approaching it like it’s a city.”

A beat of silence.

He lifts his head, studies the room. “Courtsview isn’t a place anymore. It’s become a memory trying to rewrite itself. It won’t open to force.”