Rook POV
Gravity took over.
The wind roared in my ears, but for the first time in twenty years, the silence inside my head didn't feel lonely. It felt complete.
I had the Warlord wrapped in my arms. He was screaming, clawing at my face, trying to break my grip. I didn't feel his nails. I didn't feel the impact of the grenade that had crushed my chest plate moments ago.
I only felt the weight of the promise I made.
Flashback. 2005.
It was raining the night they cut my tongue out. I was nineteen, a street soldier who had seen too much. The rival family left me in a gutter to bleed out, choking on my own blood.
I waited for death. I wanted it.
Then, footsteps.
A boy—no older than sixteen—stood over me. He held an umbrella. He didn't look away from the gore. He didn't look at me with pity. He looked at me with recognition.
Cassian Vance.
