Chapter One
Frost cracked under my boots as I stepped onto the bridge. The air was thick with the smell of blood and cold iron. Around me, the dead lay frozen in their final moments, a boy's hand still clutching a banner, a soldier's face locked in a silent scream. I pulled my cloak tighter and moved forward, my dagger a cold, familiar weight against my forearm.
Twenty-three years of this has taught me one thing: noise gets you killed. Silence keeps you hunting.
I was halfway across when I saw him.
A man pushed himself up from the carnage, moving slowly, like the world was too heavy to bear. Shredded chainmail hung from his shoulders, and dark hair was plastered to a gash on his forehead. When his eyes met mine, everything stopped.
A searing pain shot through the scar over my heart.
His tunic was torn open, and there it was a mirror of my own, a jagged white line running from his collarbone down his chest. A mark that shouldn't exist on anyone else.
I couldn't breathe.
He saw my recognition. His hand drifted to his own scar, then fell away.
"Name," he said, his voice raw.
I tightened my grip on the dagger. "You first."
A dry, broken laugh escaped him. "Rhen ir'Kalakatas." He wiped blood from his mouth. "Commander of nothing, now."
The Ash Wolf. The man I was sent to kill. The Crown's bounty was heavy in my mind. One quick cut, and it would be over.
I stepped closer. The frost splintered beneath my feet.
He didn't flinch. His eyes were tired, but sharp. "The scar's new?" he asked, nodding toward my chest.
I didn't answer. My throat was too tight for words.
He unbuckled his ruined sword belt and let it fall. His empty hands came up, palms open. "Go on, then. Do it. The Crown pays well."
My arm moved on instinct. The dagger flashed to his throat, its edge resting against his pulse. A thin line of blood welled up.
His heartbeat thudded against the steel, steady. Unafraid.
And my scar burned—a white-hot brand pressed deep into my soul.
He didn't look away. "You feel that, too."
It wasn't a question.
I pressed the blade harder. Blood warmed my knuckles.
"Do it," he whispered. "One of us becomes whole. Isn't that how the prophecy goes?"
My hand trembled. The dagger should have already done its work. But it didn't move.
He leaned into the blade until it bit deeper. "Do it."
I couldn't.
Something snapped into place between us an invisible cord, pulling taut. His breath caught. He felt it, too.
We were frozen there, on a bridge of the dead, while the wind screamed around us.
The pounding of boots broke the spell. My squad, finally catching up. Crossbows clicked into place.
"Target acquired! Stand clear, Wren!"
Rhen's eyes flickered past my shoulder. I still hadn't moved the blade.
His voice was low, for my ears only. "If they lose those bolts, we both die here. Incomplete. Your choice, half-of-me."
The cord between us pulled tighter, painful, intimate.
I made my choice.
I spun, slashed the nearest crossbow string, and kicked the next man back. Shouts erupted. In the chaos, I grabbed Rhen's wrist. His skin burned against mine like ice and fire. I dragged him over the side of the bridge.
We hit the frozen riverbank and ran.
Behind us, my captain screamed my name like a curse.
Ahead, the forest waited
, dark and deep. And we ran toward it, two halves of a single broken soul.