The quiet that followed the storm felt almost foreign.
For nine long years, my life had been defined by the constant, agonizing beat of survival. But in the days after the bloodbath at the San Francisco port, the deafening screams of gunfire and sirens slowly faded into the background, replaced by the low, solemn beat of drums.
I stood beside Asher as he gathered his remaining elites for a private, high-military honor ceremony on the edge of the estate. Despite the dark bandages wrapped tightly around his broad chest and torso, my husband stood tall in full Sovereign dress uniform, bowing his head alongside Marcus, Jupiter, Miller, and a heavily bandaged Julian.
