Chapter 4 — Interlude: Echoes of Guilt

Ezra Vane

Years had passed, and yet, the weight of Robert Morrell’s last words to me never truly faded. They were etched into my very marrow, as indelible as the scars on my hands from years of blood magic. It was late now—moonlight streaked through the narrow windows of my quarters within the Morrell Estate. The silence was oppressive, save for the low crackle of the hearth fire. My gloves rested on the side table, and I stared at my bare hands, fingertips twitching involuntarily as memories clawed their way to the surface.