The dust of the training grounds settled on Yingluo's silk slippers, a fine, gritty powder that felt like the weight of the world. She remained hidden behind the weapons racks long after General Shen Miao's black-clad figure disappeared over the horizon. Her heart was a frantic bird beating against her ribs. She had done it. She had unleashed the Golden Tiger.
A cold dread, sharp and piercing, coiled in her stomach. This was not the satisfaction of a well-laid plan. This was the primal fear of a creature that had just lit a fire in a dry forest. The fire would spread, it would consume, and she had no way of controlling which way the wind would blow.
