Spicy Hot
I descend the stairs leading to the rotunda, and each step echoes in my chest like a heartbeat.
The rotunda is different tonight. No members, no circle. Only Adrien and Lena. Candles everywhere, like the first time. Incense burning, thick, intoxicating. The altar covered in black, not red. The black of absence, of death, of rebirth.
"Come," Adrien says.
He stands near the altar. He wears a simple black tunic, open on his chest. His scars shine in the candlelight. His face is grave, without play, without provocation. Like the first time.