"Some bonds are not chosen; they are remembered from the dawn of creation, reborn each time the world needs saving."
SILAS POV
The flight to Roanridge was a storm barely held together by discipline. The Shadow royal guards transport was built for silence and speed, slicing through the night with surgical purpose. Inside the cabin, the air was tight enough to choke on, saturated with unspoken thoughts, reined-in instincts, and the scent of wolves trying to keep their sanity intact.
Marcus sat opposite me; his expression carved from stone. Every inch of him screamed control, too much of it, perhaps. The man had spent the morning navigating politics, and now he was sitting on a ticking time bomb disguised as a woman in black armor. Gavriel and Rell flanked him, rifles steady across their knees, their focus cold and absolute. They were ready for war.
