Damon
The snow at the border was gray with ash.
The wind carried the stench of iron and burnt fur, ghosts of the battle that had finally ended. The Rogues who hadn’t fled now lay scattered across the ground, their bodies dark smudges against the pale landscape.
And in the middle of it all, they dragged him to me. Asher.
He stumbled between two guards, head bowed, wrists bound in silver. His once-pristine armor hung in jagged pieces from his shoulders, dull with soot and blood. But his eyes… those hadn’t changed. Still sharp. Still furious.
“Let him stand,” I ordered. My voice didn’t carry anger. It didn’t carry much of anything for him anymore.
The guards hesitated, but when I growled, they obeyed. Chains dropped into with a soft clatter. Asher straightened, swaying slightly, but d
