Nowhere Near Over.

Keon’s POV

The room falls silent again after Rowan leaves.

For a few seconds, I remain exactly where I am, my thoughts still moving through everything we just uncovered. Three points inside the palace. Controlled movement. No witnesses. No clear entry.

Not a mistake.

Not a coincidence.

A pattern.

My jaw tightens as I replay it again, slower this time, sharper. Whoever is behind this is patient. Careful. Not rushing. Testing.

Learning.

My attention drifts, unbidden, toward one thought.

Winter.

The moment it settles, something tightens under my ribs again.

That same strange sensation from earlier lingers faintly, not painful now, but present. It sits there like a warning I cannot fully interpret yet.

I do not like it.

I turn toward the door, already moving before I fully decide to. If she is in the dining hall, she should still be there. Visible. Surrounded. Safe.

At least, she should be.

I reach for the handle.

And then it hits.

Not physical.

Not sound.

The mindlink.

Sharp. Urgent.

Unfiltered.

“Alpha.”

The guard’s voice cuts through cleanly, edged with something that does not belong in routine communication.

I stop.

“What is it?” I answer immediately.

There is no delay.

No hesitation.

“Winter has fainted.”

Everything inside me stills.

Not slowly.

Instantly.

“Where.”

“The dining hall. It was sudden. She just—”

I do not wait for the rest.

The connection snaps as I move.

Fast.

Not controlled this time.

Not measured.

I am already in the corridor, my steps sharp against the stone as I cut through the distance without slowing. The palace shifts around me, guards stepping aside instinctively, servants pulling back as I pass.

Something is wrong.

That is not exhaustion.

That is not coincidence.

That is connected.

The same tight feeling in my side pulses again, sharper this time, like something pulling at the bond in a way I do not understand yet.

My pace quickens.

The dining hall is not far.

But it feels longer.

Too long.

By the time I reach it, the doors are already open.

And the moment I step inside, the atmosphere confirms everything.

The room is not calm.

It is not normal.

It is watching.

Conversations have stopped.

Movement has slowed.

Eyes are turned.

All of them.

Toward the center of the room.

Toward her.

I cross the distance in seconds.

Winter is on the floor.

One of the chairs has been pushed back, slightly out of place. A servant kneels nearby, unsure, hovering like she does not know whether she is allowed to touch her.

No one else has stepped in.

They are waiting.

For me.

Of course they are.

I drop to my knees beside her without a second thought.

“Move,” I say.

The servant pulls back instantly.

My focus is entirely on Winter now.

Her eyes are closed.

Her breathing is there.

Shallow.

Uneven.

Not unconscious in the way of sleep.

Something else.

My hand comes up to her face, not rough, not gentle, just steady as I tilt her slightly to check her properly.

“Winter.”

No response.

The bond flares.

Not soft this time.

Not distant.

It hits me directly.

Disoriented.

Faint.

Something pulling at her from the inside out.

My expression hardens.

This is not random.

It is the same.

Whatever was in that room.

Whatever touched her space.

It did not end when it disappeared.

It followed.

Or it left something behind.

A murmur starts somewhere in the room.

Low voices.

Questions.

Speculation.

I ignore all of it.

“Clear the room,” I say.

My voice cuts through everything.

Immediate.

Final.

The effect is instant.

Chairs scrape.

Footsteps shift.

No one argues.

Within seconds, the noise dies down as people begin moving out, guards stepping in to enforce it without needing further instruction.

Good.

I do not look up.

I do not check.

I do not care.

My attention stays on her.

My hand shifts slightly, brushing back a strand of hair from her face.

Her skin is warm.

Too warm.

My jaw tightens.

“Rowan,” I say.

He is already moving.

I can feel it before I hear him.

“On it.”

He steps closer, crouching on the other side of her, his expression sharp and focused now.

“What happened?” he asks.

“She fainted,” I reply.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

My voice lowers slightly.

“This is connected.”

Rowan stills for a fraction of a second.

Then his gaze sharpens further.

“The presence?” he asks.

“Yes.”

The word lands heavy.

Real.

Rowan exhales slowly.

“Then we need to move her.”

“I know.”

I slide one arm carefully under her back, the other beneath her legs, lifting her without hesitation. She is lighter than she should feel in this moment, or maybe that is just the adrenaline still moving through me.

Either way, I do not waste time.

Her head falls slightly against my shoulder as I stand, and the contact does something immediate to the tension in my chest.

Not relief.

But focus.

She is still here.

Still breathing.

That is enough.

For now.

“Lock down the inner halls,” I say as I turn toward the exit.

Rowan stands immediately.

“Already happening.”

“Double guard at my quarters.”

“Done.”

“No one enters without my approval.”

“Understood.”

I do not slow as I leave the hall.

The path clears again.

Faster this time.

More urgent.

Word is already spreading.

I can feel it in the way people move, in the way attention follows even when no one speaks.

Let them watch.

Let them wonder.

It does not matter.

My focus stays on her.

Her breathing shifts slightly against me.

Still uneven.

Still wrong.

The bond flickers again.

Weak.

Unsteady.

And underneath it—

That same strange pull hits my side once more.

Sharper.

More insistent.

My grip on her tightens slightly without meaning to.

This is not just her.

This is both of us.

Connected.

Whatever touched her—

It reached further than it should have.

My expression hardens as I push forward.

Because now I know.

This is not just an attack.

It is something else.

Something deeper.

And whatever it is—

It is not finished with her.

Or me.