Chapter 84: Blue Strings and Old Flames

The wind howled softly down the side of the mountain, brushing over dry stone and pine like fingers through a harp. Shadows stretched long in the moonlight as a lone, cloaked figure descended the slope toward the distant flicker of a rebel campfire.

He paused when he saw her.

A woman sat alone near the edge of camp, her silhouette framed by firelight and rock. Her hair, gold and silver strands left undone, spilled down her back in wild waves, catching the low orange glow like threads of treasure.

Aurora.

The man's cloak billowed around him as he stepped closer. He lingered in the shadows, his movements fluid and quiet, stalking like a memory returning from the dead.

She hasn't changed. Fierce. Watchful. Beautiful as ever.

He reached out a hand, intending to gently tap her shoulder—

SLAM.

The world flipped.

The next thing he knew, he was on his back, pinned to the dirt and stone with a dagger at his throat and a knee to his chest.

Her other hand squeezed his neck.

"Who the hell are you?!" she snarled.

Her voice was a whip—sharp, commanding. Her gold-silver hair spilled forward past her arm like a curtain of molten light. Her breath came in hard, measured bursts.

The man raised both hands in surrender, showing he was unarmed and alone.

She yanked the hood from his head.

She froze.

Hair the color of polished gold streaked with silver.

Eyes—deep blue, like the sky just after dawn.

A broad, familiar smile. Slightly older, touched by time and hardship, but unmistakable.

His canine teeth caught the light as he grinned up at her.

"Hello, my lady."

Alejandro Roberto.

The former Duke of Marisiana. The infamous ex-chairman of the Blue Hawks Trading Commission. One of the most elusive and scandalous men in the Territories—and Aurora's ex-lover.

She rolled her eyes and shoved off him, muttering under her breath as she sheathed the dagger. "Alejandro," she said flatly, brushing dust from her skirt. "So. You really are alive."

She turned toward the fire, her expression unreadable. "I'm on patrol tonight. If you've come to help, talk to the camp leaders. Not me."

Alejandro chuckled, rising to his feet and dusting himself off. "Still all vinegar, I see."

"Don't test me," she snapped.

Her eyes, as sharp as the dagger she had sheathed, pinned him in place with pride and something else—wounded rage.

"This isn't a reunion," she hissed. "If you're serious about helping, then help. But spare me the small talk. You're good at that."

Alejandro paused, his smile fading. His fingers rose to the back of his neck, scratching like a boy caught red-handed.

"…Niegal isn't with you, is he? Nor his witch bride?"

She squared her shoulders, nostrils flaring.

"That's Viscount and Viscountess Matteo, La Doña Guabancex y novio de los Leon to you, puto."

She spat on the ground.

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Long enough for pain to bloom again.

Her posture faltered. Her shoulders fell just slightly.

"No," she said in a softer voice. "We know they're alive. But not where."

Alejandro's expression darkened, unreadable beneath the flickering light.

"Then I'll leave you be… Aurora."

She turned sharply to scold him—for using her name like they were still close.

But he was already gone.

She sighed.

Her hand slipped into her pocket, thumb and forefinger rubbing a small token—

A piece of blue silk string.

Still tied in a loop.

Still tied to him.

Asshole.