Rowan POV Waiting had never frightened him.War had taught Rowan the discipline of stillness—the kind that held the line when everything in you demanded movement. Training had carved patience into his bones, sharpened it into something deliberate. Even leadership, in its quiet moments, required knowing when not to act.But this—This was different.This was not strategy.This was not control.This was standing still while something inside him shifted, settled, claimed a truth he could neither deny nor act on.---He did not go after her immediately.Every instinct urged him to.The bond—new, raw, and unsettling in its certainty—pulled toward her with quiet insistence. Not demanding. Not overwhelming. But constant, like a thread drawn tight between them, impossible to ignore.Still, he held his ground.Because instinct, in this case, was not authority.And she was not something to be claimed.---Hours passed.The sun climbed, stretched, then began its slow descent, painting the sky
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