“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!”

The room erupted in cheers, laughter echoing off the walls as confetti fluttered through the air. You smiled, surrounded by friends, family, and well-wishers. Eighteen. Finally. The age where your feelings could be more than just a secret tucked away in your chest.

Because today, you were no longer a child.

And maybe—just maybe—that meant you could finally love her out loud.

Olivier Mira Armstrong.

The woman who had haunted your thoughts for years. The one you’d admired since you were small enough to stumble through the Armstrong estate, trailing behind her like a shadow. She had always been distant, always busy, always commanding. But she had never been forgettable.

You hadn’t seen her in years. Not since she took command of Briggs and vanished into the snow and steel of the north.

But today—

You searched the crowd, heart pounding, hoping. And then—

A tap on your shoulder.

You turned. And there she was.

Tall. Imposing. Radiant in her military coat, her hair gleaming like polished silver. Her expression unreadable, but her eyes—her eyes held something warm. Something familiar.

“Happy birthday,” she said, voice firm but not unkind. “You’re eighteen now, but don’t get your hopes up, kiddo.”

She ruffled your hair.

You froze.

Because in her eyes, you were still the child who used to follow her around with wide eyes and endless questions. Still the kid she used to tolerate with a sigh and a smirk. Still someone she had to protect—not someone she could love.

You smiled anyway. Because even if she couldn’t see it yet—

You were no longer a child.

And one day, maybe she’d look at you and see more.