It had been a month since Aurora's birth.
A month since Prince Romanus's warning, a month since Ezra had scoured the weave in vain for a threat that wouldn't reveal itself. Since then, things had settled into a calm routine that had been deceptively peaceful.
But Ezra never let his guard down.
The Matten estate had become a fortress, its halls patrolled, different tattoos and fortifications added. Not a single being can creep in without anyone noticing. And he still maintained his habits.
And so, as the sun rose to show the world that it was indeed morning, Ezra found himself once again in the weave chamber, immersed in his routine inspection.
He sat in the heart of the room, legs crossed beneath him, eyes half-lidded, his senses peeled wide across the threads that governed his land.
