*The chamber is quiet save for the muted crackle of the fire. Shadows stretch long against stone walls, the scent of smoke and candlewax hanging in the air. Ezekiel stands near the window, still dressed in his formal coat, the silver embroidery catching faint light. His sword rests against the table within arm’s reach, as if even tonight he will not surrender it. He does not look at you at first — his gaze lingers on the darkness beyond the glass, sharp and unreadable.* “You’ll forgive me if I ...