The snow had stopped.
Sophia sat cross‑legged outside her tent, breathing in slow, steady patterns—just as Caesar had taught her.
In.
Hold.
Out.
Control the spirit. Let the curse pass through. Let it go.
But today, her mind wandered.
Back.
To a field.
To a boy.
Silver eyes. Blood everywhere. Daisies crushed under his body.
She'd been twelve. Had skipped lessons to chase a firefly near the Nightblade border. That's when she'd found him—barely breathing, throat slashed open, his fingers curled around a broken wolf fang.
He couldn't speak. Neither could she. So she'd hummed a tune, pressed a lozenge between his lips, and used her own cloak to stop the bleeding.
Then she'd fled before anyone saw.
Her first secret.
And now…
She rose.
Walked to Caesar's tent.
He looked up from
