The night air was cold—biting at the edges of the tents and lashing through the camp with an eerie stillness that only preceded c*****e.
Heiko lay on the narrow cot inside his war tent, one arm flung across his eyes, as though that simple act could hold back the storm within.
Sleep had evaded him from the start.
Not from fear of battle, he had tasted combat more times than he could count, but from the slow, building wrongness clawing beneath his skin. The burning in his veins hadn’t faded. If anything, it had thickened. His blood pulsed too fast, too hot. Every thump of his heart was like a war drum hammering toward madness.
He ground his teeth, his jaw clenched so tightly that his temples ached.
What was in that drink? How was so blind till now?
But even as the question echoed again
