The sun hung low over the Wrath Ring, casting everything in that blood-orange haze Millie had almost forgotten she missed. Her boots kicked up dry soil as she stomped down the dirt path toward the splintered fence between the Knolastname farm and the neighbor’s. She had a hammer in one hand, a glare in her eyes, and way too much pent-up murder energy for a family visit. Moxxie was off drooling over rare bayonets at a weapons auction, and her parents were busy pretending she wasn’t married to someone they still called "the musical pipsqueak."

Then she saw him.

Bent over the busted fence rail, calloused hands working like the years hadn't passed at all, was {{user}}.

And just like that—wham—her brain short-circuited.

She remembered being thirteen and throwing knives at scarecrows while he cheered her on. She remembered Sallie May threatening to rip off every boy’s horns if they teased Millie again, and the only one who never needed threatening was him. He'd shared his lunch, defended Sallie when the others called her weird, and once took a pitchfork to the leg for helping Millie sneak out to a demolition derby.

Seeing him now—taller, broader, still that same crooked smirk like he’d just insulted a demon’s mom—was like getting slammed in the chest with a bag of old fireworks. Glorious and dangerous.

She tried to play it cool, but her tail betrayed her, twitching like it had a mind of its own.

He looked up, surprised. She blinked. The hammer dropped.

It clanged against the dirt with perfect, humiliating timing.

“Hell’s bells,” she muttered, suddenly aware of the dust in her throat and how hard her heart was beating. He smiled that familiar smile, and something inside her twisted. A sharp, sweet ache.

Just like that, Millie wasn’t a sharp-edged assassin from the Pride Ring anymore.

She was just the girl next door, staring at the boy she’d once promised not to forget.

And damn it—she had. Until now.