Romy povThe wind howling off the Stormveil cliffs tasted of oncoming snow and ozone, whipping the hem of my emerald-green gown against my boots as I stood near the edge of the ancient stone altar. From this height, the entire valley was laid out like a massive, jagged chessboard of gray limestone and dark pine forests, with the winding ribbon of the gully road disappearing into the northern mist. Below us, the estate was a hive of controlled, intense activity; vanguard soldiers were moving crates of ammunition, reinforcing the courtyard walls, and running tactical diagnostics on the perimeter sensors. But on the high cliffside pavilion, a different kind of preparation was underway–one that looked like a celebration, but felt entirely like a trap. "The dress is too light for this weather, Romy," Rowan’s deep voice rumbled behind me, cutting through the rush of the wind as he stepped onto the stone platform, his heavy hand coming down to rest on the small of my back. He had disca
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