It began with laughter.
Not loud, not cruel — just a low, familiar chuckle echoing from the training yard one afternoon. Isla was inspecting the new recruits when she heard it. For a second, her body froze. The sound was unmistakable — deep, confident, carrying that hint of arrogance that once made her heart tremble.
But when she turned, it wasn't Dante.
It was one of her captains, a man named Rhun, sharing a joke with two soldiers. The sound was innocent. The resemblance — an accident. And yet it lingered in her like a ghost.
That was how it started: not with attacks, but with echoes.
Over the next few weeks, small things began to change in the camp. Orders she hadn't given were suddenly carried out. Supplies went missing and then reappeared. Men began whispering in corners, falling silent when she entered. Letters addressed to her bore handwriting she recognized, but signatures she did not.
Dante was not sending threats anymore. He was sending *doubts.*
