ELENA
The roguelands always looked the same—gray sky, dry earth, and an eerie kind of quiet that sat heavy on the bones. I’d only been back a handful of times since my memory returned, but each time, I felt the same cold unease, like the air here remembered pain but couldn’t quite remember how to let it go.
Chad flanked my right, walking with his usual tension just below the surface. Two warriors followed behind us—Moonstone elite, handpicked and trained to the edge of brutality. I hadn’t wanted to bring an entourage, but Chad had insisted.
“We’re still cleaning up after a coordinated attack,” he’d reminded me. “This is not the time to play diplomat in enemy territory without backup.”
“I’m not here for diplomacy,” I’d said, stepping into the transport. “I’m here for friends.”
Now, as
