The camp had changed.
It wasn't just the air—thicker now with tension and smoke—it was the way people moved, the glances that darted too quickly to be casual. Every night, men whispered around the fires, their faces half-hidden, their words heavy with something more than fatigue.
Isla saw it all. She always did.
A week had passed since her pact with Luca, and already, she had begun weaving herself into the rhythms of his world. She wasn't one of his soldiers, but she was far more dangerous than any of them realized. Her presence in the camp drew curiosity at first, then quiet respect. A few called her the Shadow Queen. Others didn't call her anything at all, afraid her silence might curse them.
She didn't care what they thought. Every day she spent there was a step closer to freedom.
