Isabella — POVBy the time I made it to the council chamber, the sunlight was a lie—too soft for the kind of war brewing in my bones.The room was already humming with low voices, whispers too quiet to catch and too intentional to ignore. I took my seat at the head of the long stone table, spine straight, expression unreadable. Corrin stood at my right. Vincenzo at my left.Asher was late.Of course he was.The others watched me—measured, cautious, some of them still wondering why I allowed him back inside the gates in the first place.Let them wonder.Let them choke on it.“Begin,” I said coolly, without waiting.Corrin stepped forward, dropping a scroll on the table. “Our scouts tracked movement beyond the Eastern Ridge. Small company. No colors, no sigils. Likely another cell.”“Same pattern?” I asked.“Same timing. Same tactics. But this time they didn’t attack. Just… waited.”“For what?”No one answered.I didn’t need them to.For someone.The doors creaked open behind me, and I
Isabella pov The door clicked shut with a softness that felt like mockery.Like he knew it would haunt me.And gods, it would.I stared at it for longer than I meant to, breath shallow, fingers twitching with the ghost of a touch that never came.Damn him.Damn him for knowing just how to unravel me with silence. With honesty. With the kind of grief that never quite finished dying.I should’ve screamed.Should’ve thrown something. The lamp. The boots. The blade still strapped to my thigh.But I didn’t.I just stood there. Hollow. Breathing like it hurt.Because it did hurt.He was still under my skin—stitched into the scar tissue, bleeding through the cracks I thought I’d sewn shut. I hated him for that. Hated myself more for letting it still matter.Eventually, I moved.I needed to do something before I drowned in memory. Before the ache in my chest turned into something messier than rage.So I turned from the door and yanked the window open, letting the night slap me in the face.C
Isabella — POVThere was blood under my nails.I could still feel the pulse of the man I killed.Still hear the wet snap of bone and blade and the sound his body made when it hit the forest floor. Like a sack of meat dropped from a rooftop.It didn’t shake me.Not the kill.Not the way Asher looked at me after—like maybe he’d forgotten what I was capable of. Like he remembered too well.What did shake me was the moment after.The silence.The way our eyes met.And the flicker of something unspoken, electric and buried, sparking to life between us like a match struck in a room full of gas.I hated it.Because I didn’t know if I wanted to lean into it or set the whole damn thing on fire.I stormed up the stairs the second we returned.Didn’t wait for the post-mortem. Didn’t sit for strategy.I needed distance.I needed space from the heat he left in his wake.I needed to breathe without feeling like he was still standing behind me.Gods, that man…He always knew how to find the bruise I
Asher – POVThe storm broke just past midday.Not in the sky.In her.We were halfway through planning routes for a potential ambush near the West Creek—where Enzo’s patrols had gone quiet for days—when Isabella slammed her fist on the table hard enough to rattle the map weights.“I said, that road is compromised.”Her voice cracked like a whip. Her hair was a dark curtain over her face, but I saw the spark beneath it. The edge.The fury.“You’re still not listening.”“I am listening,” I bit back, trying to stay calm. “You just don’t like what you’re hearing.”She leaned over the table, eyes leveled with mine. “No, Asher. I don’t like that you’re still playing this like chess while bodies are dropping in the dirt. You keep talking about strategy. I’m talking about wolves.”“So am I,” I growled.“No, you’re talking about your wolves. Your war. Your ego.”That one dug deep.I straightened, jaw tight. “You think this is about ego?”“I know it is,” she said coldly. “It always is with you.
Asher – POV I left before sunrise. Didn’t tell anyone where I was going. Didn’t leave a note. Just saddled the black and rode out while the frost still clung to the edges of the earth like it was trying to hold everything together. It felt fitting. The wind bit at my neck as I crossed the southern ridge, but I didn’t slow. The forest blurred. The sky stayed gray. And the only thing louder than my horse’s hooves was the sound of her name hammering in my head: Isabella. It had been months. Months since I’d last stood in front of her. Since I’d said the wrong thing and she’d said worse, and the door had closed like it meant to stay that way forever. And maybe it should’ve. But I wasn’t here for apologies. I was here for answers. For strategy. For something that didn’t look like war even though every step I took felt like I was walking straight into one. By the time I reached her family's estate, the sun had barely broken the clouds. The gates were still shut. The g
Aria — POV The storm broke before the snow did. Not outside. Inside. Inside him. Asher slammed the war table hard enough to crack it. Maps fluttered like wounded birds to the floor. The candlelight flickered as if afraid. “He burned two of our scouts alive and now he wants to play peacekeeper?” he growled, pacing in sharp, short lines that reeked of fury. I didn’t flinch. I was too used to this version of him—the one who wore his rage like armor and refused to let it crack. “Mason said he looked tired,” I offered carefully. “Not weak. Just… worn. He has a daughter.” Asher’s head snapped toward me. “So do monsters.” I stepped closer. “He sent a scroll, not a battalion.” “He sent a warning! Wrapped in wax and blood,” he spat. “You don’t send diplomacy with a damn body count in the footnotes.” The fire roared behind us. The room smelled like smoke and adrenaline. I hated this house. Hated these halls—too cold, too wide. I wanted my rogue forest back. I wanted Xav