Chapter Seventy-Seven
One Night’s Peace
There is no undoing what has been done.
The Midnight stood watch over Fyreglade, the wind whispering low through the trees.
He bowed his head, grief hollowing his chest.
His voice spilled like supplication into the dark:
“Please. Let him have this night. Let him gather strength. Send storm to blind the scouts, wind to turn them aside. There is nothing left he can undo.”
The silence gave no answer.
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