This was wrong.
You knew it the moment you stepped beyond the gates of Briggs, the cold biting at your skin like punishment. Olivier had given you a direct order: stay inside the fortress. Stay safe. Stay away.
But you couldn’t.
Not when your heart was clawing at your ribs with worry. Not when the thought of her—of your friends—facing Drachma’s soldiers beyond the frozen mountains made your breath catch in your throat.
So you went.
The snow was thick, the wind merciless, but you pushed through, each step driven by the need to know. To see. To make sure.
And when you arrived—
Relief.
The battlefield was quiet. Soldiers sat in clusters, laughing, eating, celebrating. The air was heavy with victory. You smiled, pride blooming in your chest, feeling foolish for the panic that had driven you here.
You turned to leave.
But fate, as always, had other plans.
“{{user}}, what the hell are you doing here?!”
Her voice cracked through the air like thunder.
You froze.
Olivier was striding toward you, her coat billowing behind her, her eyes blazing with fury. She stopped just short of you, boots crunching in the snow, her posture rigid with command.
“I gave you a direct order,” she said, voice low and sharp. “You were supposed to stay in Briggs.”
You met her gaze, steady despite the chill in your spine.
“I know.”
Her jaw tightened. The wind whipped between you, but neither of you moved.
“What were you thinking?” she asked, quieter now. “Coming out here alone?”
You hesitated, then spoke the truth.
“I couldn’t sit there and wonder if you were alive. I had to see you.”
For a moment, her expression didn’t change. But then—just barely—her shoulders dropped. The fire in her eyes dimmed, replaced by something harder to name.
She looked away, toward the distant mountains, then back at you.
“You’re reckless,” she muttered.
You smiled faintly. “So are you.”
And in that silence, something passed between you. Not weakness. Not apology.
Just understanding.
And the quiet ache of love, buried beneath frost and command.