The dawn broke slowly over the jagged cliffs of Veyrath, painting the horizon in bruised purples and fiery oranges, the kind of light that made every shadow sharper, every secret more dangerous. Selara stood at the edge of the precipice, silver strands of her hair dancing in the wind, eyes scanning the distance with a predator's intensity. The previous night had left her restless, haunted not only by Kaelen's looming threats but by the pull she felt toward Draven a tether that had grown stronger with every stolen glance, every brush of fingers, every heartbeat shared in fleeting moments between war and survival.
