A thin shaft of dawn light tracked across Lina's closed eyelids, rousing her from restless dreams of silver sigils and snarling shadows. She lay on a low cot in the infirmary, wrapped in thick furs and herbs that Seris, the astronomer-omega, had applied. Her ribs still throbbed where Ronan's gauntlet had struck during their last mission, but this chamber felt safer than any cell. Broken lattices lined one wall, each containing a cured soldier whose amber eyes tracked her every move.
Lina lifted her head to see Ronan seated at a small table, studying a leather-bound journal. Steam curled from the wooden bowl before him—broth infused with marrow and medicinal roots. He glanced up, his storm-gray gaze softening for the first time in days. “You're awake," he observed quietly.
She managed a n
