Seventy-One: Delayed by Fight (Dom)

DOM

The war room vibrated with tension. Voices overlapped—strategy, confusion, fear. The map table was cluttered with half-formed plans and open comms. Outside, the sound of boots thundered like drums. A scout had just returned, breathless, reporting movement along the eastern border.

My fists were planted on the edge of the table, knuckles white, jaw locked.

Then it hit me.

A jolt. Like lightning threaded with heat. A spark buried deep inside my chest flared to life, so sudden and sharp I staggered back a step.

"Dom?" Lucas asked, eyes narrowing.

I couldn't speak. My hand flew to my chest. The bond—Lena's bond—it was there. Weak, thready, but pulsing again. Like a flame that had refused to die.

She was alive.

But more than that—

She was angry.

She was fighting.