Eira's pov
The war room always felt colder at night.
Not because of the air,it was recycled and sterilized, like every other breath in the compound,but because this room knew too many secrets. Too many decisions were made here that cost blood. Too many strategies drawn over maps that no longer held cities, only ruins.
And tonight, it smelled like the beginning of something irreversible.
I stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him.
Draven was hunched over the large tactical table, sleeves rolled up, brows drawn together. The screens behind him flickered with silent surveillance footage. He didn't look like a commander. Not right now. He looked like a man cornered by ghosts.
Good.
Because I was done walking on eggshells around the truth.
"You've been watching Malrik like a hawk," I said evenly.
His head didn't turn. "He needs to be watched."
I stepped in. "He hasn't made a move on anyone."
