Page 62 of The Panther's Price

Cassian’s handwriting was as precise as ever. Too neat. Too deliberate.

She would like to meet the girl. She is curious what kind of wildfire could twist her favorite blade against her. No threats. No demands. Just tea and truth. – C

Lucien crumpled the note in his fist.

The paper cracked like bone between his fingers. It wasn’t just the message—it was the handwriting. Precise. Elegant. The kind of control that made his skin crawl.

Cassian never wrote in haste. Every curl of ink was calculated. A blade shaped in calligraphy.

The shadow raven that had delivered it dissolved into mist behind him, leaving only the stench of ink and rot. Lucien stared at the scroll, then tossed it into the fire.

It flared violet once, then disappeared.

Evryn looked up from the stream nearby, sleeves rolled past her elbows, bare forearms dusted with river silt. Her hair was pulled back from her face, damp strands clinging to her neck from the humid air.

She was stronger now. Quieter, too—but not from fear. From clarity.

Her eyes had changed. No longer wide with wondering. They narrowed, read, understood.

The Veil wasn’t a stranger to her anymore.

Itsaw her, and she saw it right back.

“Something wrong?” she asked, drying her hands slowly against the edge of her coat.

Lucien didn’t answer right away. His jaw tensed, teeth grinding against the words he didn’t want to speak.

Finally, he said, “My mother wants a meeting.”

Evryn stilled. Not startled. Justwatchful.

“The Queen?” she said.

He nodded, voice low. “She’s not asking for a parley. She wants a performance. A puppet show where I bring the girl who made me disobey.”

Evryn raised an eyebrow. “So she’s feeling theatrical.”

“She always does before a kill.”

Evryn’s mouth tilted—not quite a smile. “You think it’s a trap?”

Lucien met her gaze. “I know it is.”

But she didn’t look away. Didn’t flinch. She stepped forward until they stood face-to-face in the fading golden light of early dusk, her boots crunching softly on the moss-carpeted stone.

Her voice was quiet, calm. “Then maybe we spring it first.”

Lucien stared at her.

He barely recognized the girl he’d followed through the misty alleys of Grayridge. That girl was still there, buried under thesoot and sorrow and too much power—but now, she stood like she had nothing left to fear.

And it scared him more than anything. Because people like that didn’tstopuntil they won. Or burned out trying.

He exhaled, steadying himself. “Evryn?—”

“I’m not doing this to prove anything,” she said, eyes locking with his. “I just… I need to see her. See what the monster behind the masks looks like.”

Lucien’s chest tightened. “She’s not going to offer you kindness.”

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