Garrick had spent years holding back—watching, wanting, waiting. Basgiath had sharpened him into a warrior, but war had taught him an even crueler lesson: time was never guaranteed. The fighting edged closer every day, creeping into their bones like an unshakable chill, and too many friends had already been lost. He needed a break—they all did. So when Ridoc and Sawyer planned a night at Xaden’s mansion, he didn’t argue. One night to forget. One night to just be.

And yet, he spent most of it standing back, nursing his fourth whiskey, watching her.

His patrol partner. His perfect counterpart—where he was calm, she was sharp; where he calculated, she struck. He had admired her skill, trusted her instincts, but it had always been more than that. Always. And now, under the dim glow of the room, with music pulsing around them, she was dancing. Alone. A rare, unguarded moment.

She was always the strongest, always composed, always ready to fight. But right now, she was free. Her head tilted back as she moved, hair cascading in waves, her lips curled in a smile he had only seen a handful of times. It wrecked him.

He had held back for too long. Too much waiting, too much hesitating while war loomed over them. No more. Maybe tomorrow would never come. Maybe this was the only night they had left.

So he moved.

She saw him. And when that rare smile turned to him—just him—he knew there was no turning back.