Dawn came sharp and cold, slicing across the ridges like a blade. But Aria felt something warmer rising inside her—a quiet fire that had nothing to do with the sun. The ruins were behind her now. No longer a place of exile. No longer a memory, she feared.
They had become a beginning.
The road ahead twisted through frost-lined trees and open fields. Behind her marched a new kind of army. They were not polished or proud. They walked with wariness still in their bones. But they walked together—rogues no longer alone, no longer without a name to claim. They carried no banners. Just hope.
At Aria’s side, Lysa moved quietly, no longer an enemy, no longer standing apart. The tension between them hadn’t vanished, but it had shifted—no longer brittle, just real. The bruise on Aria’s cheek still
