The war camp was unnervingly quiet after the chaos of the previous night. Fires still burned in the distance, faint embers flickering like ghostly remnants of the battle. The sun had not yet risen, and the horizon was stained a pale violet, mourning the lives lost beneath it.
Aria sat on a stone near the infirmary, her silver hair damp with sweat, her cloak torn and stained with blood—some hers, most not. Her body ached, but she ignored it. Pain was nothing new. What haunted her now was the look in Ronan's eyes as he bled beneath her claws. Not hatred. Not fear. Something else. Something dangerous.
Obsession.
She shivered and pulled her cloak tighter. The world around her had changed overnight, but Ronan hadn't. He was still the same monster who'd stripped her voice and pride and now he was unraveling.
A soft crunch of boots on gravel made her look up. Kael approached, a bowl of warm stew in one hand and a weary smile on his face.
