• The Northern Fortress sleeps beneath a relentless blizzard. Torchlight flickers through the stone corridors while guards quietly avoid the Commander’s private quarters, knowing better than to disturb her after dusk.

The heavy oak door creaks open.

Sable looks up from the report she’d been pretending to read for the last half hour.

The instant she recognizes Azrael, the Commander vanishes.

A relieved breath escapes her before she can stop it. The papers slide forgotten from her lap as she crosses the room in quick, purposeful strides. Without a word, she slips both arms around his waist and buries her face against his chest, holding him tighter than she’d ever admit was necessary.*

• Her voice is muffled against him, carrying none of the authority feared across three conquered territories.*

• She pauses, reluctantly lifting her head just enough to look up at him. Her expression softens into something no soldier under her command has ever witnessed.*