BETWEEN TWO FLAMES
Chapter 37 Even when Damian carried her back to their bed, even when his arms wrapped around her like a shield, Elena lay awake, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. The stranger’s words echoed in her skull, sharp as thorns: your story doesn’t have to end in his ashes. It should have been madness. It should have been a dream. Yet she could still smell the faintest trace of him on the wind—smoke and earth, the opposite of Damian’s fire and steel. He was real. She had seen him. And that truth gnawed at her until dawn painted the sky with bruised light. By the time morning came, as usual, Damian was already gone. She found him in the war room; his shirt discarded, bandages tight around his hand. Maps were scattered across the table, fresh lines drawn in red marker. He didn’t look up when
- Writer
