Logan lingered in the doorway, eyes locking with Lara's for a brief second. There was an apology there. And something else—curiosity, even concern.
"Sorry," he said quietly. "She's spoiled. Acts like a brat."
Lara offered a faint, knowing smile.
Liam followed Logan out without looking back. He wore a face even colder than when Alaric was scolding his erring ministers.
Leonard was the last to leave.
He paused in the doorway, studying Lara as if she were a half-remembered dream—something just out of reach.
"Rest well," he said softly. "Liam and Logan will pick you up tomorrow."
The door closed.
Silence settled like dust after an explosion.
Lara sat there for a long moment, staring at the door as if it might reopen and swallow her back into the chaos. Her heart was still racing, each beat loud in her ears.
And alone again, Lara finally understood one thing with chilling realization: With Liam's suspicion and Layla's bratty attitude and threats, she hadn't just stepped into a family—
She'd stepped into a war.
War. That word echoed again, heavier now that she understood it wasn't metaphorical.
She exhaled slowly and leaned back against the pillows.
Get it together.
Layla's laughter still rang in her head—sharp, dismissive, designed to cut. That wasn't insecurity. That was territorial. The kind of woman who guarded power because she'd grown up knowing exactly how fragile it was.
Lara pressed her palm to her chest. Beneath the thin hospital gown, something stirred. Not fear but clarity and recognition.
She checked the clock on the wall, a digital one. It displayed the time and the date.
January 16, 2026.
Six centuries after the Azurverda Empire had been founded.
Memories snapped into place with brutal clarity.
She remembered who she was.
Lara Norse-Kromwel—Empress of an empire. Before that, the daughter of a general. Before that, a girl raised on strategy, sacrifice, and blood-soaked victories by a white-haired master.
Had I transmigrated? She asked silently.
Then why did this body feel… familiar? Not borrowed. Not foreign. I feel like it's mine.
She rose unsteadily and crossed to the bathroom. The mirror reflected a woman too thin, skin pale beneath harsh fluorescent light—but the bones of her face were unmistakable. The same sharp cheekbones. The same steady brown eyes.
A version of Lara. Stripped down. Rewritten.
Her gaze drifted to the carry-on bag by the chair.
She reached for it, fingers trembling just slightly, and unzipped it. Inside were neatly folded clothes—dark jeans, a soft gray sweater, and underwear that was unmistakably hers. A small toiletry pouch. A cracked phone with no power.
And at the bottom, tucked inside a side pocket, a worn leather wallet.
Her breath caught. She opened it carefully.
An ID slid halfway out, and a name appeared: Larissa Reyes.
I am now Larissa Reyes. An orphan. A nobody.
What a fall—from the founder of a guild of powerful women in a male-dominated era to a name no one feared, no one followed. From the first empress to a name, so common and ordinary,
The name stared back at her like a challenge. She swallowed hard. So she hadn't imagined it. Whatever else was broken inside her mind, this wasn't a delusion. It was the truth—she was no longer Lara Norse—Kromwel. And insisting, she would be branded as crazy.
But it was just a name. The name could change, but deep inside, her very soul was still Lara Norse — daughter of war god, sibling to brave generals, and wife to the founding emperor of Azurverda.
She would move carefully and strategically.
Her meeting with General Artemio Fuegerro had already made one thing clear: the accident wasn't an accident. There was more to it, and Lara wanted to find out.
And this world—this city—was just another battlefield.
A knock came at the door.
Lara stood abruptly and walked cautiously toward the door.
"It's me," Logan's voice said quietly. "I—I forgot something."
She hesitated, then said calmly, "Come in."
The door opened just enough for him to slip inside. He closed it behind him, slower than necessary, like he was aware of how alone she was now.
"You okay?" he asked.
Lara let out a short laugh. "Define okay."
That earned a small smile, but his eyes were serious—dark, intent. He looked different without Layla's fire in the room, less cocky, more real.
"I'm serious, are you okay? "She shouldn't have said those things," he said. "Layla… she doesn't trust easily. Or kindly."
"I noticed," Lara replied. "I am not okay. I need time to sort out the mess in my mind."
"Of course."
Logan's gaze flicked to the wallet in her hands. He didn't ask. Just nodded once, as something had quietly fallen into place.
"Take all the time you need," he said, his voice softening a little.
Her throat tightened. "I will."
"Don't be offended by Layla's nonsense," Logan added.
"I am not," Lara replied.
Silence hung in the air before Logan shifted closer, stopping just short of invading her space. "Dad seems to like you. If you stay with us," he added, lowering his voice, "it won't be easy. My family doesn't do neutral. You're either inside… or you're a threat."
"And which am I?" Lara asked.
His mouth curved, but there was tension beneath it. "That's the problem. You're both."
"You barely know me." She said indifferently, but something warm and unsteady bloomed low in her chest.
"Yeah," he admitted. "But I know when someone's trying to survive—and when someone's telling the truth and doesn't even realize how dangerous that is yet."
Their eyes held. The air felt charged, like the moment before a storm breaks.
A nurse's footsteps echoed down the hall.
Logan stepped back, the distance snapping into place like a boundary neither of them had agreed to cross—yet.
"Try to rest," he said. "Tomorrow's going to be a lot."
The door clicked shut.
Silence rushed in behind him, thick and suffocating. Lara lay back against the narrow hospital bed and stared at the ceiling tiles, her pulse hammering harder now than it had during the conversation itself.
She had built an empire once without sentiment clouding her judgment.
But this time was different.
Stripped of power, money, and allies, Lara understood the truth she'd been resisting: she couldn't afford to stand alone—not yet. In this body, in this city, she needed a backer. Someone with reach. Someone dangerous enough to keep others at bay.
Her fingers curled into the thin sheets.
The ceiling light flickered.
Tomorrow, she knew what choice to make!