The night before the march tasted like iron.
Glosh stood alone in the command tent, staring at the battle plans pinned across the table. Every mark, every line, every anticipated movement had been calculated until there was no room left for mercy—only efficiency.
She told herself that was leadership.
She told herself it had to be.
Outside, the army slept in uneasy shifts, wolves sensing what their minds refused to name. The wind carried distant howls from the north—enemy scouts, bold enough now to announce themselves.
They believed she was coming.
They were right.
The tent flap moved.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
Kael’s voice.
She didn’t turn. “I relieved you of command.”
He stepped inside anyway. “You don’t get to erase me.”
That made her look at him.
He wasn’t armored.
