The Iron Hall stood on the outskirts of Winter's Crown, its imposing silhouette outlined against the pale glow of the rising moon. Once an old armory, it had long since fallen into disuse, its high, arched windows now broken and its walls weathered with time. To Damien, it was the perfect place for an ambush.
He approached cautiously, the faint sound of his boots crunching against the gravel-covered path the only noise in the stillness of the night. Behind him, Amara and Carys followed at a distance, their shadows blending into the darkness. Though the note demanded he come alone, Damien wasn't naive enough to trust the promise of answers without insurance.
As he reached the entrance, Damien paused, his steel-gray eyes scanning the shadows for movement. The heavy iron doors were slightly ajar, revealing nothing but darkness within. He glanced back at Amara and Carys, who waited silently in the cover of the trees.
