Prologue

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Six months after his betrayal

The snow had turned red again.

Elira stood knee-deep in the frozen sludge of the battlefield, her breath curling in the air like smoke from a dying flame. Bodies lay strewn behind her. Ahead, the enemy troops regrouped near the ridge. She gripped her rifle tighter.

A horn blared.

The Draveth line parted.

And then, through the veil of frost and war, he emerged — cloaked in black and silver, helmet tucked beneath one arm, his face a ghost she'd buried alive.

Kael Thorne.

Alive.

On the wrong side of the war.

Her blood turned to ice. Every nerve screamed. Her mind — so regimented, so cold — fractured on sight.

He looked the same. But harder. Wilder. His cheek still bore that faint scar. His eyes... they found hers, even across a bloodied field.

He had the audacity to smile. Not wide. Not smug. A ghost of a smile — like a secret only he remembered.

Something in her chest cracked.

"Commander Vale," someone whispered beside her. "Is that—"

She stepped forward. Rifle up. Heart howling.

"Don't move," she snapped.

He did. Slowly. Deliberately. Towards her.

Her hands shook.

Six months ago, he vanished in the night. Took secrets. Left chaos. Broke her without a sound. She'd hated him ever since.

Sworn to kill him if they ever met again.

Now he stood in front of her. So close. No gun in hand. No fear in his eyes. Just... him.

"Elira," he said, soft, like her name still tasted like something sacred.

She pulled the trigger.

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