CHAPTER 1 — The Drowning Room

The Academy loomed like a steel citadel against the pale morning sky, its towering walls humming with the pressure of discipline and hierarchy. Every corner was sharp, every footstep rehearsed, every greeting laced with the knowledge that legacy ruled everything. Names mattered here — families forged futures, and futures forged power.

Ela had neither.

The new girl stood alone in the white corridor of the advanced tactical command wing, the distant echo of boots on polished floors resounding like a drumbeat. The hallways were pristine, almost surgical, and they contrasted the tension that simmered beneath the Academy’s flawless façade.

She stood straight as a blade. Not a twitch. Not a flinch. Not even a hint that the whispers around her were needles meant to pierce.

But someone noticed that stillness — and took offense.

Jax Thornwell leaned against a row of gleaming lockers, the overhead lights glinting off the admiral pins proudly displayed on his collar. His smirk was carved with the confidence of someone born into power.

“Well, well,” he muttered, loud enough to slice through the silence. “Look what the draft dragged in.”

Rooric’s laugh was deep, the kind of laugh that carried cruelty in its echo. Kale said nothing, but his stare was cold enough to chisel stone.

Ela didn’t turn her head. She simply met their eyes — gray, unblinking, unreadable.

Jax pushed off the locker with a casual grace that came from years of getting exactly what he wanted. “You’ve got nothing on you,” he said, circling her like a shark. “No crest. No family. Not even a nickname. That’s rare.”

Ela answered with a calm, evenly measured voice.
“I’m here to train. That’s all anyone needs to know.”

Her tone wasn’t defiant — but it wasn’t submissive either.
That irritated Jax.

“You hear that?” he said, glancing at his lieutenants. “Draft girl thinks she’s above introductions.”

“She’ll learn,” Rooric replied, cracking his knuckles rhythmically. “They all do.”

Kale’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s give her a tour.”

Their smiles sharpened. Ela understood the moment she agreed to follow them that this wasn’t a tour. It was a warning. But she didn’t resist. She walked with controlled precision, the three cadets flanking her like shepherds steering prey.

They passed the simulation decks, where holographic terrains flickered behind glass. They passed the mess hall, filled with cadets glancing up with a mix of curiosity and pity. Finally, they reached the officer’s gymnasium — spacious, empty, and smelling faintly of metal and chlorine.

The plunge pool sat to the side, water crystal-blue, calm, deceptively innocent. Steam rose lightly from it, blending with the cold undertone of sterile tiles.

Jax spread his arms dramatically.

“Every new cadet gets a proper introduction to the Academy spirit,” he said, his voice echoing off the walls.

Rooric snorted. “Spirit,” he repeated. “Yeah. Let’s call it that.”

Kale stepped behind Ela. Not close enough to touch — just close enough to block any retreat.

Ela glanced at the pool, then back at the boys.
Her breathing never changed.

“What exactly is this ‘introduction’ supposed to prove?” she asked.

“That you belong here,” Jax said lightly. “Or that you don’t.”

Rooric stepped closer. “It’s tradition.”

Ela’s voice was steady. “Tradition shouldn’t require three against one.”

Jax’s smirk sharpened. “It’s not about fairness. It’s about resilience.”

Then the air shifted — a silent countdown.

Rooric grabbed her left arm.
Kale seized her right.
Jax placed a palm on her shoulder as if in greeting.

“You’ll remember this moment,” he whispered.

Before she could brace, before she could twist or redirect their grip — Jax shoved.

Her knees struck the edge.
The world swallowed her.

Cold.
Silent.
Weightless.

The water closed over her head like a fist. Ela’s lungs constricted; the shock stole her breath before she could think. Chlorine burned her eyes. She sank deeper, her uniform dragging her down, heavy and suffocating.

Hands held her under — a palm on the back of her head, another on her shoulder, pushing with the confidence of those who believed nothing could touch them.

One second.
Three seconds.
Five.

Her lungs screamed.
Her thoughts sharpened.
The world went blue, then darker.

Ten seconds.

Then air. Violent, ripping air.

She surfaced with a gasp, water streaming down her face as the boys hauled her up like a trophy.

Rooric laughed first.

“Look at her— soaked like a wet recruit.”

Kale cracked a rare smile. “Doesn’t look so calm now.”

Jax clapped her back in mock friendship. “Now you’re one of us.”

Ela didn’t react. Water dripped from her lashes like silver threads. Her uniform clung to her frame, heavy and suffocating, but her expression remained eerily calm.

She wiped water from her eyes with slow, deliberate movements.

Then she looked at them — really looked at them — and for the first time, Jax felt something he didn’t expect.

A flicker of unease.

Her voice came quiet, but razor-edged.

“You think this breaks me?”

Rooric raised a brow. “It’s not about breaking—”

“It’s about putting you in your place,” Jax finished.

Ela inhaled steadily, as though reclaiming control molecule by molecule.

“You mistake silence for weakness,” she said. “And stillness for surrender.”

Her gray eyes lifted, meeting Jax’s directly — and his smirk faltered.

“I’m not here to be defined by you,” she continued. “And I’m not here to join your world.”

A beat of silence fell — thick, electric.

“Then what are you here for?” Kale asked.

The corner of her lip twitched — not a smile, but something colder.

“To take command.”

The three boys exchanged looks, amusement returning.

Jax chuckled. “Draft girl, you’ve got guts. I’ll give you that.”

Ela stepped out of the puddle forming beneath her feet. The water made her boots squeak against the tile — the only sound in the vast gym.

“You’ll see,” she said calmly. “Soon enough.”

And without waiting for permission, she walked past them — drenched, steady, unbroken.

Jax watched her go, the laughter on his lips dying slowly.

“She’s trouble,” Kale muttered.

“Or entertainment,” Rooric added.

Jax said nothing.

Because he had seen something in her eyes — not fear, not anger, but a quiet calculation. A storm building.

And for the first time that morning…
he wondered if they had just made a mistake.

CHAPTER 2 — The Girl Who Didn’t Break

The dormitory wing of the Academy was quiet when Ela finally arrived, her boots leaking water with every step. The corridor lights buzzed softly overhead, illuminating the straight, clinical lines of identical doors — each representing a cadet chosen from the nation’s most privileged families.

Except her.

She entered Room 317 and closed the door behind her. The lock clicked with a small metallic snap, sealing out the rancid echoes of Jax’s laughter.

The room was small. Bare. Practical. A narrow bed, a desk, a locker, and a single window overlooking the training grounds. The only personal items she had were still packed: a folded uniform, a weathered notebook, and a small metal tag no bigger than a thumb — its edges worn smooth from years of being held.

Ela set the tag on her desk, then peeled off her soaked uniform. Her hands shook slightly — not from fear, not from weakness, but from the adrenaline still burning through her veins.

“Ten seconds,” she whispered.

She sat on the bed, closing her eyes.

Ten seconds underwater.
Ten seconds of humiliation.
Ten seconds of letting them believe she was powerless.

But she had learned far more in that pool than they had intended.

Rooric—left-handed. Overextends when applying force.
Kale—hesitates before committing. Watches others for cues.
Jax—dangerous because he thinks he’s untouchable.

She had seen it all while submerged in icy blue.

Ela stood again, pulled on a dry uniform, and brushed her fingers over the metal tag on the desk. Her reflection in the window was faint — a ghost in a gray uniform.

“They think I’m prey,” she murmured. “They’ll learn.”

A knock at the door interrupted the silence.

Another knock — softer, unsure.

Ela opened the door.

A girl with copper hair stood outside, clutching a tablet tightly to her chest as though it were a shield. Her uniform bore the crest of a tactical analyst trainee. Her wide brown eyes flicked quickly up and down Ela’s figure, taking in the damp boots, the faint chlorine scent, the rigid posture.

“H-Hi,” the girl said. “I’m Lira. Room 318. I… um… heard what happened.”

Ela’s gaze didn’t soften. “From whom?”

“A lot of people saw you walking with them,” Lira replied nervously. “And… nobody comes back dry from the ‘tour.’”

The word dripped with bitterness.

Ela stepped aside. “You want to come in?”

Lira hesitated, then slipped inside, shutting the door behind her like someone afraid it might explode if left open.

“I’m sorry, by the way,” Lira said, wringing her hands. “What they did — it wasn’t fair.”

“Fairness isn’t part of the curriculum,” Ela said.

Lira blinked. “You’re… taking this well.”

Ela raised a brow. “Should I not?”

Lira lowered her gaze. “Most new recruits cry on their first night.”

Ela turned away so Lira couldn’t see her expression shift.

Most recruits weren’t trained the way she had been. Most hadn’t spent years preparing for a place that didn’t want them.

“Why did you come here?” Ela asked.

Lira swallowed. “To warn you.”

Ela turned fully. “Warn me about what?”

“Jax,” Lira whispered. “He doesn’t let anyone challenge him. Especially not a draft recruit. He’s already bragging that he ‘broke’ you.”

A dangerous stillness settled over Ela.

“He didn’t break me,” she said quietly.

“I know.” Lira’s voice trembled. “But he thinks he did — and that’s worse.”

Ela’s gray eyes sharpened. “Explain.”

“People he targets… they don’t stay targets long.” Lira picked at her sleeve. “They leave the Academy. Or they get reassigned. Or they get into ‘accidents’ during training.”

Ela’s hands curled into fists. “And the instructors allow this?”

Lira’s laugh was bitter. “His father is Admiral Thornwell. He funds half the Academy’s expansion programs. Jax is untouchable.”

A long silence stretched between them.

“Thank you for telling me,” Ela said.

Lira nodded and opened the door — then hesitated. “If you want… if you decide to leave… I can help you find a reassignment request form.”

Ela’s expression turned colder than steel.

“I’m not leaving,” she said.

Lira’s eyes widened, but she didn’t argue. She slipped out quietly and returned to her room.

Ela sat again on the bed. She let the silence settle. Let the anger cool until it solidified into something sharper.

Leaving was not an option.
Hiding was not an option.
Breaking was not an option.

Command — that was the goal they assumed she’d never reach.

She would prove them wrong.

The very next morning, the Academy buzzed with gossip before the first drill bell rang.

“Did you hear? Draft girl got baptized in the plunge pool.”
“Jax says she nearly cried.”
“She lasted ten seconds.”
“Bet she’ll wash out by the end of the week.”

Ela walked down the hallway alone, her uniform pristine again, her posture as rigid as ever. Eyes followed her — some amused, some sympathetic, some simply curious.

She ignored them all.

When she reached the tactical assessment arena, the instructor — Commander Rell — glanced up from his datapad.

“You’re the new recruit,” he said. “Ela Varin.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re early.”

“It won’t happen again, sir.”

Rell’s brows lifted slightly. “Being early isn’t a mistake.”

Ela blinked, then nodded once.

Rell gestured to the row of simulation pods. “Today is assessment day. You’ll be paired with three cadets. Trial scenario: hostage retrieval.”

Ela waited for the names.

“Cadet Kale. Cadet Rooric.” Rell paused. “And Cadet Jax Thornwell.”

Her pulse didn’t change.
Her breathing didn’t change.

But a new electricity — something cold, focused — swept through her veins.

Jax was already there, leaning casually against the wall. His friends flanked him. His smirk deepened when he saw her.

“Look who decided to stay,” he drawled. “Thought the pool might’ve scared you off.”

Ela met his gaze evenly. “I don’t scare easily.”

Rooric chuckled. “You’ll wish you had.”

Kale folded his arms. “Try to keep up.”

Commander Rell approached with a datapad. “Pods ready. Team 4, enter.”

Ela stepped into the simulation pod without hesitation. The door sealed behind her, enclosing her in a dim circular space. The floor vibrated softly as the neural interface activated.

A synthetic voice filled the chamber:

“Simulation beginning in ten seconds.”

Her fingers flexed.
Her heart steadied.
Her mind sharpened.

Ten seconds.

The same amount of time she had been forced underwater.

Only this time, she wasn’t helpless.

This time, she would rise.

The simulation lit up around her — a battlefield forming out of digital mist.

Somewhere in the distance, she heard Jax’s voice through the comlink.

“Draft girl, stay out of the way.”

Ela smiled — a rare, quiet, dangerous smile.

“No,” she said, voice low and calm. “You stay out of mine.”

The battlefield finished loading.

And the war began.

CHAPTER 3 — Tactical Silence

The world materialized in a blinding rush of pixels and sound, forming into a dense urban combat field. Crumbling buildings rose like jagged teeth, smoke coiled through shattered windows, and distant sirens wailed across a sky the color of gunmetal.

Simulation Active — Hostage Retrieval Protocol.
Team Condition: Four Cadets.
Time Limit: 15 minutes.

Ela’s boots touched down on cracked asphalt, the air filled with digital grit and tension. A rifle materialized in her hands — light, standard issue, nothing special. She adjusted her grip with natural precision.

“This is Team Lead, Thornwell,” Jax’s voice crackled through the comlink the second the interface synced. “All units proceed on my mark.”

Ela didn’t answer.

Rooric spoke next. “Draft Girl, stay behind us. Don’t wander off.”

Kale chimed in. “Just follow instructions. Easy enough.”

Ela scanned the surroundings instead, ignoring their voices. The simulation was sophisticated — too sophisticated to simply follow someone else’s orders. A battlefield like this had patterns, pressure points, choke zones.

And she saw them instantly.

Movement flickered in an alleyway to the east. Her gray eyes narrowed.

“Hostile at two o’clock,” she said calmly.

Jax scoffed. “There’s nothing there.”

The second he finished speaking, three digital insurgents opened fire from that very alley, bullets shredding the ground where Jax stood a moment before. He dove behind a broken vehicle, curses echoing.

Rooric shouted, “Where did THEY come from?!”

Ela didn’t waste time.

She ducked low, sprinting through the line of fire with fluid, efficient movements. She raised her rifle — one shot, precise, eliminating the first attacker. A roll to the left evaded the next burst of gunfire. Two taps — the second and third hostiles dropped in quick succession.

The alley went silent.

The battlefield’s ambient noise hummed around them.

Jax rose from behind cover, staring at her. “How—”

“Hostiles use predictable flanking paths in Level 3 simulations,” Ela said. “You should know that.”

Kale muttered under his breath. “This is going to be a long day.”

The team regrouped, though Ela felt more like an outsider orbiting the mess of their egos.

Jax checked the building ahead. “The hostage is inside the central complex. We’ll go in as a unit.”

Ela shook her head. “That’s a kill zone.”

Rooric bristled. “Excuse me?”

She pointed toward the rooftop. “Sniper nest. And the left side entrance is rigged.”

Jax narrowed his eyes. “You’re guessing.”

“No,” Ela corrected. “I’m observing.”

She picked up a small jagged piece of rubble and tossed it toward the door he was about to enter. The instant it hit the threshold—

BOOM.

A simulated explosion rocked the street.

If Jax had walked in first — and he absolutely would have — he’d be dead.

Silence clung to the air afterward, thick and disbelieving.

Kale turned slowly. “How in the hell did you know that?”

Ela didn’t blink. “Why would insurgents guard a building heavily on the inside but not booby-trap the most direct entry? It’s strategy, not prophecy.”

Jax’s jaw tightened. She had cornered him without even trying.

“Fine,” he snapped. “You tell us how to get in.”

She pointed to a drainage tunnel leading into the building’s understructure — dark, narrow, easily overlooked.

“There,” she said.

Rooric stared. “That tiny thing? You serious?”

“Yes.”

Kale frowned. “You think the hostage is beneath the building?”

“The hostage is always beneath the building,” Ela replied. “It forces rescuers into close-quarters combat where mistakes multiply.”

Jax gritted his teeth. “We’re not crawling through some sewer while she leads.”

“You want the front door?” Ela asked quietly. “Be my guest.”

Silence again.

Kale sighed. “Let’s take the tunnel.”

Jax looked like he swallowed a nail.

The tunnel was cramped and pitch black except for the faint glow of their wrist-lights. Water dripped in rhythmic patterns. The air smelled like damp stone and rust.

Jax crawled second in line — Kale in front, Ela behind him, Rooric at the rear.

“Draft Girl,” Jax said, voice a low growl, “don’t think you’re in charge.”

“I don’t have to be,” Ela replied. “The battlefield already is.”

He hated that answer.

They crawled until the tunnel branched into a grated floor beneath the building’s lower levels. Voices echoed above them — enemy chatter.

Kale whispered, “Two guards at least.”

Ela positioned herself beneath a grate. “Three,” she corrected. “One’s pacing.”

Jax smirked. “And I suppose you can take all three?”

“Yes.”

Her tone held no bragging — only fact.

Before Jax could argue, Ela pushed the grate upward silently, slipped through the opening like a shadow, and disappeared.

Rooric whispered, “We are definitely going to die.”

Jax opened his mouth — when suddenly:

Thump.
A body hit the floor.

Thump.
Another.

A third guard spun into view, rifle rising—

Ela struck his throat, pivoted, swept his legs, and dropped him cleanly. No wasted motion. No panic. No sound.

She stood in the dim room, breathing steady, while three simulated corpses faded into pixel dust.

She looked back at the tunnel. “Come on. We’re behind schedule.”

Rooric blinked. “What ARE you?”

Ela ignored the question.

They navigated the lower level until the hostage chamber came into view — thick steel doors, heavily guarded.

Jax raised his rifle. “We rush them.”

“No,” Ela said immediately.

“Why not? We outnumber them.”

“You don’t outnumber an ambush.”

Rooric rolled his eyes. “There’s no amb—”

A grenade clinked across the floor.

Ela grabbed Rooric by the vest, yanked him sideways, and dove behind a crate. The explosion rattled the entire chamber.

Smoke. Heat. Shrapnel.

Jax coughed violently. “They’re everywhere!”

Ela was already moving. Calm. Calculating.

She lifted her rifle, checked the angles, and spoke through the comlink:

“Kale — left flank, suppress fire. Rooric — back cover, but do not advance. Jax — take the high ledge and pin the snipers.”

Jax bristled. “I take orders from no one.”

“Then fail,” Ela said simply.

A beat.

Then Kale moved. Rooric followed. And finally — reluctantly, furiously — Jax obeyed.

Ela advanced with ice-cold precision. One hostile down. Two. A third. A fourth. Her bullets landed exactly where they needed to.

The simulation recalibrated — adapting to her strategy — increasing the threat level. She adapted faster.

Minutes later, the chamber was silent. The steel door to the hostage chamber glowed green.

Jax dropped from the ledge, panting. Sweat covered his brow.

“What the hell did you just do?” he asked.

Ela walked toward the steel door. “Completed the objective.”

The door slid open and the simulation froze.

MISSION COMPLETE.
Team Rank: S-Class.
Individual MVP: Ela Varin.

The battlefield dissolved into light.

Jax stood staring at her — not with arrogance this time, but with disbelief. And under it, something darker.

Fear.

Ela stepped past him, voice low enough for only him to hear.

“You thought you could drown me.”

She paused at the doorway.

“But you only woke me up.”

CHAPTER 4 — The Day the Wolves Bowed

Daylight poured through the academy’s atrium in sharp white beams, cutting across the marble floor like blades. Morning announcements echoed through the corridors, but something else buzzed louder, spreading through the academy like electric rumor:

A first-year cadet had led a top-ranked senior squad to an S-Class victory… and carried the entire mission on her back.

Whispers followed Ela wherever she walked.

“Did you hear she predicted the ambush before it happened?”
“Someone said she took out seven hostiles alone.”
“They’re saying she knows the simulations better than the instructors.”

Cadets parted when she approached — not out of respect, but uncertainty. And curiosity. And something that tasted very close to fear.

She ignored all of it.

Her steps were measured. Cold. Focused.

Because today was unavoidable.

Jax would come.

He had to.

The academy taught many things — combat, strategy, leadership — but the most primitive lesson lay beneath all of it:

If you wound a wolf’s pride, the wolf returns.

Ela stopped in the center of the courtyard, the granite underfoot warm from the rising sun. Trees rustled in the breeze. A few cadets watched from benches, pretending not to stare.

Footsteps approached.

Three sets.

Jax.
Rooric.
Kale.

Ela didn’t turn. She waited.

Jax finally stopped behind her, breath sharp with lingering anger.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“Talking,” Ela answered calmly, still not looking at him, “is only useful if someone is listening.”

He moved in front of her, forcing her to meet his eyes. His stare was intense, the kind of stare that had intimidated dozens of cadets before her.

Ela looked back with all the emotion of a winter sky.

“You embarrassed me yesterday,” Jax said.

“You embarrassed yourself,” Ela corrected softly.

Rooric inhaled sharply. Kale tensed.

Jax’s jaw flexed. “What you pulled in that simulation—”

“Saved your life,” Ela said.

“My life wasn’t in danger.”

“It would have been,” she answered. “In a real mission, you’d be dead three times over.”

A muscle in his cheek twitched. “You think you’re better than me?”

“No,” Ela replied. “I don’t think. I observe.”

Rooric let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Jax turned sharply. “Quiet.”

But Rooric didn’t quiet.
Kale didn’t either.
They exchanged a glance — uncertain, shaken. The balance had shifted. And Jax felt it.

He stepped closer. “I don’t know who you think you are—”

Ela interrupted. “I think I am someone you underestimated.”

Silence fell like a dropped blade.

Jax stared at her, hands curling into fists. “You made us look weak.”

Ela tilted her head. “You were weak.”

Rooric flinched. Kale swallowed. Jax’s ears burned red.

“You want to fight me?” he demanded. “You clearly want something.”

Ela held his gaze. Her voice was quiet, but it cut through him like a scalpel.

“I want you to stop pretending you’re a leader.”

A gasp echoed from somewhere nearby. More cadets were gathering now — drawn by tension, by the scent of shifting dominance.

Jax barked a humorless laugh. “And you think YOU should lead?”

Ela stepped forward.

“I don’t think,” she said again. “I know.”

The courtyard went dead still.

Kale’s eyes widened. “You’re challenging him.”

This wasn’t a fight.
This wasn’t bullying.
This was something older — older than rank and crests and military protocol.

This was a direct contest for dominance.

Ela continued, “You rely on legacy, not skill. You command through fear, not respect. And yesterday proved you cannot read a battlefield you believe you own.”

Jax took a step forward, voice low. “Watch your mouth.”

“No,” Ela said. “Watch how your own squad looks at you.”

Jax froze. Slowly, painfully, he turned.

Rooric looked conflicted.
Kale looked away entirely.

Ela spoke again, sharp as glass. “They followed me yesterday because they wanted to survive, not because I demanded it.”

Rooric whispered, “She’s not wrong.”

Jax’s head whipped toward him. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

Kale muttered, barely audible, “We almost died because of you.”

Jax looked like someone had punched him, but Ela wasn’t finished.

“There is a difference,” she said, “between being feared and being followed.”

The courtyard now held nearly fifty cadets. None intervened.

Ela stepped into the final inch of space between them, her voice soft but thunderous.

“You tried to drown me, Jax.”

His throat tightened.

“And in doing so,” she said, “you handed me the weapon I needed most.”

“What weapon?” he whispered.

“Your arrogance.”

He opened his mouth — but no words came.

Ela’s voice dropped even lower.

“You made me your target. Yesterday, you made me your equal. Today…”

Her gray eyes blazed.

“…you make me your superior.”

Gasps rippled through the courtyard.

Jax’s nostrils flared. “You want a duel?”

“No.” Ela shook her head. “A duel means I care about winning. I don’t.”

“Then what do you want?!”

“I want you,” she said calmly, “to stand down.”

The phrase struck him like a physical blow.

“That’s not happening.”

Ela raised a single eyebrow. “Then prove I’m wrong.”

A long, excruciating silence stretched.

Jax looked at her. Really looked. She was smaller. Younger. New. Lacking crest, lacking pedigree, lacking everything the academy valued.

And yet—

No one, not a single cadet present, doubted her.

Including, horribly, Jax himself.

He broke.

Not loudly. Not dramatically. But subtly — shoulders dipping, defiance cracking, pride fracturing.

Rooric exhaled. Kale looked strangely relieved.

Ela didn’t smile. She didn’t need to.

Jax finally whispered, “What do you want from us?”

Ela stepped past him, standing where the whole courtyard could see her. She turned, eyes sweeping over every cadet.

“I don’t want loyalty,” she said. “I want competence.”

Her voice sharpened.

“I don’t want fear. I want discipline.”

Then, with quiet force:

“I don’t want followers… I want soldiers.”

Silence.
Then movement.

Rooric stepped forward first, placing his fist to his chest in a respectful salute.

Kale followed.

Then one cadet.
Then another.
And another.

Until the entire courtyard — except Jax — stood saluting her.

Ela didn’t bow.
Didn’t glow.
Didn’t revel.

She simply nodded once, acknowledging them.

Finally, Jax approached — every step heavy, each one carving away the last scraps of ego.

He stopped before her.

And he bowed his head.

“Commander,” he said quietly.

Ela met his gaze with calm, storm-gray eyes.

“Not commander,” she corrected softly.

“Not yet.”

A faint, rare spark lit her expression.

“But soon.”

END