Sunlight cut through the broken storm clouds like judgment.
Ashton stood at the manor gate, his uniform jacket clean, his expression unreadable.
Ward rode up, reins tight. “You look like hell."
“I'm fine," Ashton replied.
“General, with all due respect—last night's storm nearly took the east wing. The manor's unstable. You should still be in bed."
“I'm leaving. Escort the medic."
“Medic?"
Ashton turned, watching as Erin—her hair pinned, coat buttoned too precisely—stepped into the courtyard.
Her eyes didn't meet his.
Ward muttered, “The one from the servant logs?"
“She's being transferred. Personal request."
“Sir, you're assigning confidential transport to a maid?"
Ashton's jaw flexed. “To a nurse."
Ward held up both hands. “Not asking."
---
Inside the covered truck, Erin sa
