His tea had gone cold.

  Decian leaned back from the desk. The cup rested in his hand, forgotten. Outside, the high window showed pre-dawn gray starting to break toward actual morning.

  The stimulant vial sat next to his hand on the desk. Clear liquid inside. He'd pulled it out an hour ago and just... left it there. He needed to stay sharp today. Clear. Not riding chemical focus through what was coming.

  A deep stiffness ached in his shoulder as he rolled it. The stitches on his face itched under the bandages — maddening and constant. He ignored both and took another drink of tea. The lukewarm brew had lost its flavor.

  Imperator Remenus crossed his thoughts as he sipped from the cup. The last dispatch from High Command had said to hold in wait for the Southern Armies; full mobilization had been called, the Imperator of the south would march down and take back control of Poros to the west.

  Behind him, the door opened.

  He turned to watch his sister. Knowing it was Livia from the lack of formality or knock.

  She pushed through wearing full combat gear. Cuirass strapped tight, rebreather clipped at the collar, the new Prefect's sash at her waist, boots laced. Hair pulled back, with her helmet at her belt. Ready for the day.

  "You're up early." She stopped just inside, looking at him. "Or did you sleep at all?"

  "Some."

  "You look like death, Decian."

  "Good morning to you as well."

  She moved to lean against the wall near the window, crossing her arms. "The extra troops finished integration last night. Third and Fourth Cohorts are full strength and ready."

  Decian set the cup down. "Excellent."

  "It's good to be back with the regiment. Better than I can express."

  "Better than Asana?"

  "Fuck yes." She glanced at the stimulant vial on his desk but didn't comment. "I saw Marcus yesterday. During evening drills."

  Something shifted in his chest. "How's he doing?"

  "Good. Better than good, actually." Pride touched her voice. "He's not the boy who left for Ardentis anymore. The kid's grown into our lot of life. His squadmates respect him; they even listen to him. He’ll be ready for command soon."

  Decian absorbed that. Marcus had been with the regiment for over a year now. Earning his rank through field work, not bloodline, just like the rest of them. But hearing Livia’s pride in their brother brought him comfort.

  Silence stretched between them.

  Decian straightened. "With the new Cohorts integrated, I want to move on Ravon tonight."

  Livia looked at him with a puzzled expression.

  "And the militia?"

  "Ravon is the priority, moving on the militia before we grab him could compromise the whole OP."

  "It could get ugly."

  "It will get ugly, Liv."

  Another pause. Both of them understood what tonight meant. What it could become if the militia fought back. If the Black Hand coordinated with them. If everything collapsed the moment they kicked down Ravon's door.

  It didn’t need to be said aloud.

  Decian stood and reached for his tunic on the armor stand. His shoulder protested as he pulled it on. Then the cuirass.

  Livia pushed off the wall and moved to help without being asked. Her hands went to the back straps while he held the front plate.

  "Tighter.”

  She pulled. The cuirass settled across his chest. She worked through the buckles with practiced efficiency, testing each one.

  "You're favoring your left?”

  "My shoulder's still stiff."

  "It'll loosen, keep working it."

  "Yes, mother."

  She finished the last buckle with a chuckle and stepped back. Decian knotted the purple sash at his waist, checked his sidearm before sliding it into the cross-holster, and looked at the saber hanging from the armor stand. He lifted it, tested the weight, and slid it into the scabbard at his hip.

  Ready.

  Livia moved toward the door. "See you out there."

  "Go."

  She left, closing the door behind her.

  Decian stood alone for a moment. Looking at the cold tea and stimulant vial sitting next to it.

  He turned and walked out. Ready for whatever the frontier had to offer next.

  The streets were empty under the moonlight.

  Decian walked near the front of the column, three platoons moving behind him in combat formation. Rebreathers already on and rifles held ready. No one spoke.

  Centurion Ferro walked beside him. Varro's platoon was somewhere in the rear. The rest of the regiment was alert and waiting in the compound.

  The villa appeared ahead.

  Six militia guards stood at the entrance. They straightened as the Testa troops approached. Confusion spread across their faces. One reached for his radio.

  Decian looked at him directly, shaking his head.

  The hand stopped, hovering.

  Decian glanced back and nodded. A fire team moved forward in his wake, rifles coming up. The guards raised their hands slowly. Imperial soldiers surrounded them, pushing them aside at gunpoint.

  The front door was locked — ornate wood carved with administrative symbols.

  He crossed to it and pounded three times.

  "Governor Levian Fallan Ravon. By order of High Command and signed warrant, you are under arrest for treason against the Dominion of Flame. Open this door, NOW."

  Silence.

  He counted to ten.

  Nothing.

  The soldier beside him swung his battering ram. Once. Twice. The door splintered inward with the third impact.

  Decian drew his pistol and moved inside. His fire team flooded in behind him — weapons up. The rest held position outside.

  The entry hall was empty.

  He could hear movement in the side rooms, doors slamming, staff scattering deeper into the building. Somewhere upstairs, a woman screamed.

  "Clear the rooms, double time.”

  His team split. Two soldiers to each doorway.

  "Clear!"

  "Clear!"

  "Movement in the back!"

  Decian moved toward the rear. Walking fast. The garden entrance stood ahead — marked by a carved archway.

  He pushed through it.

  Governor Ravon was halfway up the back wall by the time he came upon him.

  One leg resting over the top. Hands gripping stone. His face turned back, eyes wide in panic.

  Decian raised his pistol and cocked the hammer. "Get down, Governor."

  Ravon’s hands came up. "As you wish, I’ll comply."

  Two soldiers grabbed his arms and hauled him off the wall, yanking him to his feet and forcing him to his knees. Cuffs snapping on with a click behind his back.

  The Governor's face was pale. Sweat beaded along his brow despite the chill. "This is a mistake, Tribune. A serious mistake."

  Decian holstered the pistol and gestured to his men.

  They pulled Ravon up, shoving him forward. Back through the garden, through the villa, and out the shattered door.

  The platoons had formed a cordon. Ravon was pushed into the center and surrounded by a six-man team holding heavy trench-shields.

  Decian stepped into the street next to him. The garrison compound sat five blocks away. The militia barracks stood between his group and the compound. He could see sentries along the walls already watching them with stiff postures.

  "Move."

  The column started forward, spreading into wide cover patterns.

  They only made it thirty yards before a volley erupted from the barracks.

  Rounds cracked past and impacted the walls behind them.

  "CONTACT!"

  The shield team closed tighter around Ravon, moving fast.

  More militia poured from their compound gates in full kit, hundreds of them filling the street in seconds.

  The bastards had been ready.

  "Return fire!" Lucan's voice cut through. "Suppressive bursts!"

  The Testa troops scattered into cover — finding doorways, walls, abandoned carts, anywhere that offered a surface to hide behind. Rifles barking back in steady streams as they moved.

  From the garrison compound, heavy weapons opened up, ripping into the advance.

  The attack stalled momentarily. Some of the traitors dropped back. Others dove for cover. But more kept coming from the gates.

  Decian moved with the shield team. Pistol drawn. Staying close.

  A shield bearer to his left took a round through the throat and drooped. Blood sprayed in a wide arc as he fell. Another soldier stepped up immediately, grabbing the fallen shield.

  "Maintain formation!"

  The column pushed forward. Inching ahead in controlled movement.

  Bodies fell from both sides, flooding the street in a thin layer of blood.

  The gates began opening as they came onto the market square. His troops concentrated their fire from the walls. The crack of semi-automatic rifles joined the machine guns' hollering. Breaking the advance fully as the column ran in.

  The shield team rushed through with the rear guard, Decian next to them, already directing the response.

  "CLOSE THE GATES!"

  He stood inside the compound, breathing hard. Dust and splattered blood covered his cuirass. His pistol was still hot.

  He keyed the radio. "All positions to lockdown stations, kill anyone who approaches the walls."

  Acknowledgments crackled back.

  He turned to the guards holding Ravon. The Governor had gone silent. Staring at his feet. Fear breaking through fully in his demeanor.

  "Get him out of my sight and in a cell."

  They dragged him away without preamble.

  Decian looked at Lucan. The Centurion's face was streaked with powder residue. "Casualty count?"

  "At least fifty, sir. We’re waiting on the final numbers."

  Gunfire erupted from the front.

  This wasn't over.

  He moved through the compound. Behind him, mortar rounds began impacting near the supply depot.

  Dawn was still hours away.

  His radio crackled. Other positions across the city were calling in attacks. Requesting support that couldn't come.

  Alta was burning.

  Decian stood at the head of the table in the war room, staring at maps of Lantis and Alta spread across the surface. The radio rig hummed quietly against the back wall as the operator monitored frequencies through his headphones.

  Outside, muffled gunfire continued in sporadic bursts. The occasional mortar impact adding to the noise.

  No one had slept.

  Cato leaned against the table to Decian's right with his arms crossed. Tiberius stood opposite, studying the map with tired eyes. Livia was against the wall near the door, watching everything. Cassia sat at the side table with reports stacking up beside her.

  The door opened.

  Prefect Stravan walked in with Captain Rion, the garrison scout commander. Both showed combat wear — dust on their cuirasses and soot streaking their faces. Rion carried a rolled map under one arm.

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  Decian looked up. "Status?"

  Rion stepped forward and unrolled his map on the table. "Sir, we sent teams out at first light. Six outposts have gone radio silent with no signs of life." He pointed to marked positions. “All of them were ours, so we have to assume they're overrun."

  Stravan pointed to another seven outposts, "These militia posts didn't respond to recall orders, but they’re showing activity. They've most likely gone traitor."

  Decian looked at the map, cursing the militia and Ravon.

  "What are the casualties from last night?"

  "Over a hundred dead or wounded," Stravan answered. "Most of them from the initial assault on the gates, and these fucking mortars." As if summoned, another mortar impact landed in the compound nearby.

  Livia spoke from the wall. "The Black Hand's flooding into Lantis, I’ve seen organized formations marching in from the west, they’re coming from Poros."

  Tiberius looked up from the map. "We tried pushing out at dawn to give the scouts some cover, but they already had heavy weapons positioned at every major intersection. We couldn't advance past two blocks. The Imperial district is lost."

  Stravan's voice carried weight when he spoke next. "We were able to get twelve civilians out. Some of my men found them sheltering in a shop near the perimeter. The rest are assumed KIA or captured. Tovar was also able to sneak out of the militia barracks and get into our compound before your raid, I sent word."

  The reality of that settled over the room. Cassia kept writing at her table, tallying the reports without looking up.

  Stravan stepped closer to the table. "Sir, we need to withdraw. Now, while we still can."

  Cato's response came immediately. "We hold this compound. The First Testa regiment doesn't surrender Imperial land to fucking traitors and guerrillas."

  Livia pushed off the wall. "We have the numbers from our additional cohorts. We can push back; the militia needs to pay."

  Rion cleared his throat to grab the group's attention. "Prefects, with respect — they have us contained. There are still at least five thousand militiamen in the city, plus whatever the Black Hand has funneled in. We’re almost surrounded, they have us out-gunned, and they're going to bring up artillery."

  Decian said nothing as he watched his officers argue.

  The radio crackled in the background — a different regiment from Menav calling in, reporting another attack and requesting support that couldn't come.

  Tiberius spoke quietly, cutting through the tension. "Poros fell yesterday."

  Everyone stopped talking.

  "Menav's on the brink of falling; it could be any day." He looked at Cato, then at Livia. "Alta was already a lost cause. The arrest merely accelerated it."

  Cato's jaw worked, wanting to argue, but he couldn't find the ground to stand on.

  Stravan pressed forward. "The Nexia relief force is coming, but they won't make it through. The Black Hand owns the highways now. They'll be ambushed, delayed, maybe stopped entirely."

  “Even if they break through, they won't get here before the rebels’ position heavy artillery. We’ll be shelled to rubble,” Rion added.

  Decian's eyes stayed on the map, calculating the math that didn't work. Holding wasn't a possibility anymore.

  He looked at his logistics officer. "If we withdraw, what can we take?"

  She stepped forward, consulting her clipboard. "We have ten trucks operational. We need at least three for medical staff and critical support personnel, one can take a radio rig, the rest will have to hold what ammo and supplies we can fit."

  "And the civilians we pulled out?"

  "We can fit them in with the essential staff who can’t march, sir."

  Decian straightened and looked around the room at each officer in turn. "We're not dying in this compound. Prefect Hadrian's right — Alta was already lost."

  He paused, letting that sink in.

  "Our only option is to withdraw. I want us to be prepared for a breakout through the back gate by 1200 hours. We’re going to push for the Nexia border, with luck we can meet the relief force heading to us."

  Cato finally nodded, the acceptance bitter but present on his face.

  Livia spoke up. "Rules of engagement?"

  "Kill anyone who impedes us."

  Stravan looked relieved. "I'll coordinate with the post commanders farther out; some should still be alive, we can pick them up on the way."

  Decian turned to his adjutant. "Get the Nexia force on the long-range. Tell them we're coming out, give them our route, and request they push toward us."

  Cassia stood immediately and moved to the radio operator.

  Decian looked around the room one more time. "You’ve got five hours. Make them count."

  The officers dispersed to their assignments, filing out of the war room with purpose.

  He remained at the map table, clenching the sides with white knuckles — it all sat wrong with him, abandoning Imperial citizens, losing a Territory, retreating; yet he had no choice.

  Noon sun beat down on the parade ground behind the command post.

  Decian walked between the trucks lined up at the back gate, checking their loads. Ten vehicles sat with their engines running. Ammunition, rations, and medical supplies neatly packed into crates filled the back of seven of them. The twelve civilians they'd pulled that morning huddled near truck three, clutching bags and staying quiet.

  Smoke grenades sat in open tins near the gate. Enough to create a proper wall when they needed it.

  He watched as the cavalry finished forming up along the front and both flanks — just under a thousand riders on horses that stamped and tossed their heads. The beast could smell what was coming.

  His infantry waited in assault formations. First and Second Cohorts clustered near the front, Third and Fourth were holding the rear with Livia, while the Auxiliaries filled in the gaps around the transports. Every soldier had their rebreather strapped in place over their face.

  The front walls of the compound were still under fire — sporadic but constant — two platoons had been selected to keep the militia focused forward while the rest prepared.

  Decian found Varro near truck two. The young Centurion stood with one of his fire teams, all of them armed and ready.

  "You're with the Governor and Tovar. We need them alive, Martis, or we leave with nothing."

  "Understood, sir."

  Ravon was being loaded into the truck bed under guard. Still cuffed. His face had gone from pale to gray over the last few hours. He looked up as the guards shoved him toward the tailgate.

  "Tribune Testa, please—" His voice cracked. "This is madness. You can't just—"

  Varro grabbed his arm and hauled him up into the bed roughly. "Sit down and shut your mouth."

  Ravon collapsed onto the bench seat. The support staff around him didn't even glance in his direction.

  Decian kept moving. He found Livia with her cohort commanders near the rear of the formation.

  "First and Second are going to be under me on the breakout. I need you to hold the rear as we advance, make sure to grab the two platoons at the front before you follow us."

  She nodded once. "I won’t leave them."

  Cato was with the Auxiliary commanders, pointing at the trucks. Tiberius stood with the cavalry officers over a map spread on a truck hood.

  Decian keyed his radio. "All units, sound off."

  The acknowledgments rolled in across every frequency. First Cohort. Second. Third. Fourth. Auxiliary battalions. First and Second Cavalry wings. Medical. Supply. Everyone ready.

  He walked to the gate and looked at the iron barrier. Twelve feet of reinforced metal and wood. Beyond it, Lantis waited; he could make out the militia kicking in doors and looting shops, farther along what seemed to be barricades near the perimeter. Past all of it, the highway south — their only option out of Alta.

  "When those gates open, we don't stop moving until we meet the Nexia force," he called into the radio.

  He looked at the engineer manning the gate controls and nodded.

  They swung wide.

  Soldiers grabbed smoke grenades from the tins and hurled them into the street. The canisters hit pavement and started billowing thick gray smoke. Within seconds, the avenue outside disappeared behind a wall of it.

  "GO! GO!"

  The trucks lurched forward. Engines roaring as they punched into the smoke. The cavalry poured through the gates with them — some riding alongside the convoy, others pushing ahead into the gray where visibility ended. The Infantry surged out last in steady waves, weapons up, moving fast.

  Decian was at their head, rifle held across his chest, jogging near the rolling convoy.

  The first shots came from their left. A few militia-men who'd been close enough to see the commotion opened fire. Return fire cracked from the infantry advancing beside the trucks, cutting off the scattered contact.

  As they cleared the second block, the distinctive howl of a heavy weapon opened up from a second-story window to the right. Rounds tore through the smoke and punched into the side of truck three. Panicked screams came from its bed as it continued to move.

  A cavalry squad nearest the building dismounted without being ordered. Six of them rushed the entrance while their horses scattered. Gunfire erupted inside as they cleared the second floor, then silence.

  The third block had a barricade across the avenue. Overturned carts and sandbags were stacked chest-high. Black Hand fighters grouped behind it, firing rifles. The Imperials hit them like a hammer. Charging straight into it with bayonets fixed and weapons barking. The fighting turned close and vicious. Men grappling. Rifle butts cracking skulls. Bayonets punching through cloth and flesh.

  The Testa troops came out victorious, collapsing the barricade. The convoy rolled over the wreckage.

  Decian stayed near the trucks, directing fire when positions appeared. His radio was a constant noise. Unit updates — contact reports. Casualties mounting. He tried not to think about Marcus somewhere in the formation behind him.

  Livia's voice cut through the chatter. "Testa Actual, Rear's secure, Third and Fourth Cohorts are advancing to join the regiment."

  “Good work, Prefect, get to us on the double.”

  The resistance built as they pushed deeper. Word was spreading. The rebels knew they were making for the border.

  Heavier fire started coming from buildings on both sides. Machine guns and rifle volleys concentrated on the trucks.

  They ground through it with brutal efficiency, but the cost was climbing. Bodies were left in the street as they fell.

  The numbers rose with every block.

  Near the convoy center, an auto cannon erupted from a side street to the east, the sound deafening as it echoed around the buildings.

  Marcus's voice came over the roar as he directed a group of his squadmates. "LET'S GO, ON ME!"

  Decian's head snapped toward the sound. He caught sight of Marcus charging toward the flank, carbine firing, with half his squad following.

  Return small arms fire surged as they entered the alley. The sound of it rose above everything else.

  Then a panicked voice came over the radio. "Specialist Accardi is down! Repeat, Specialist Accardi down!"

  Decian was already moving. Pushing through his troops and shouldering past the convoy. His chest went tight. He ran toward the side street where gunfire still crackled.

  As he hit the corner with his rifle up, he found Marcus on the ground with his squadmates around him. Their medic was already working, hands wrapping gauze around Marcus's side where blood was spreading dark and fast across his tunic. His face was pale. Eyes unfocused, blinking slowly.

  Decian dropped beside him and grabbed the collar of his cuirass with his right hand. "I've got you, brother, stay with me."

  Marcus's eyes found his face, but didn't focus. His mouth moved. No sound came out.

  Rounds cracked in front of him, slamming into the street and pushing shrapnel up. The squad was still fighting, laying suppressive fire into the smoke where the enemy hid.

  Decian started to drag his baby brother. His left hand brought the rifle up as he braced it against his side. A figure moved in the smoke ahead. He fired. The figure dropped and groaned. He kept dragging Marcus back toward the trucks. Step by step. His brother's weight was pulling against his grip on the cuirass. Fifty feet. Sixty. His shoulder wound burned from holding his Vuldra as he dropped it and let the sling catch.

  The squad moved with him, covering their XO and fallen member.

  He reached the nearest truck, grabbed Marcus under the arms, and hauled him up into the bed. The medic jumped in after, already pulling tools from her kit bag.

  "Keep him alive," Decian ordered.

  "Yes, sir."

  He wanted to stay. To watch. To know. But the radio was crackling on his belt. The convoy was slowing. People were dying. He had to command.

  Decian forced himself to turn away. To move back toward the front of the column. His heart hammered.

  The city limits appeared ahead through the thinning smoke. Beyond them, the highway stretched south toward Nexia.

  The last positions hit them the hardest. The militia poured in from buildings on either side and flooded the street in a final attempt to stop the breakout. Supported by Black Hand reinforcements coming from the north. The volume of fire became deafening. His men kept pushing straight through it, making every loss they took costly for the traitors and rebels as they broke the last desperate efforts.

  The highway opened before them. The convoy accelerated, causing the infantry to start jogging behind the trucks, while the cavalry spread wide on the flanks.

  They'd made it out of Lantis.

  But it wasn't clear yet.

  Black Hand warbands appeared on the hills paralleling the highway within the first mile. Sniper fire from elevated positions targeted officers and medics, and small ambushes occurred at curves where the road bent through low terrain. Nothing that could stop the small army he commanded, but it was enough to bleed them.

  "All units, maintain speed," Decian ordered over the radio. "Do not stop for contact."

  The regiment kept moving. Fighting while marching. His cavalry broke away to skirmish with harassers in the hills. The infantry returned fire without breaking stride. The trucks rolled forward relentlessly.

  Miles passed. The harassment continued but never intensified. The enemy didn't have the numbers to do more than nip at them.

  As they marched, the sun completed its journey across the sky. Noon became afternoon. Afternoon stretched toward evening. The harassment grew lighter. More sporadic. Eventually, it stopped entirely.

  The sun touched the horizon behind them. Decian looked back once. Lantis sat on the edge of the world, smoke still rising from fires burning in the city. Then it disappeared as they crested a rise and dropped into the next valley.

  Darkness fell.

  "Keep it moving, we rest when we reach the Nexia force," Decian ordered into the radio.

  The column continued. Boots on pavement in rhythm. Engines rumbling. The steady sound of an army in retreat.

  One attack came an hour after full dark, more of a probe than anything. The regiment's return fire drove them off in minutes. When they were gone, only the road, the darkness, and the exhaustion remained.

  The hours blurred together in a haze. Decian walked with the column, forcing his legs to keep moving. His shoulder ached. His face throbbed where the stitches had pulled. He ignored both and kept moving. Troops advanced around him like shadows in the night, marching mechanically as they'd been trained to do.

  The moon rose over the trees sometime past midnight.

  As they marched on, green flares appeared in the distance.

  "Testa Actual," a voice came over the radio. "Nexia force sighted a few miles out."

  A fresh pair of flares burned in the sky as the regiment crossed another hill.

  Decian walked at their front. Twelve hours of marching had been brutal on his body. His legs ached. His shoulder throbbed. Every step sent pain through the stitches on his face.

  The Nexia force appeared out of the darkness. A few thousand troops in defensive formation along the highway. Supported by a squad of motorcabs with mounted auto-cannons positioned at intervals. Electric lamps cast light across the road.

  A figure stepped forward from the nearest group of officers. Tall, wearing a Prefect's sash and combat gear that looked worn. EmberBorn mark at his throat.

  He saluted. "Tribune Testa. Prefect Galer Torian Nevas. We marched double time when we got word you were coming out."

  Decian returned it. "Prefect. I appreciate the effort."

  Galer's eyes moved past him to the column still arriving — soaking in the endless line of troops emerging behind the trucks in the darkness. "How bad was it?"

  "We lost Alta. The Militia turned traitor and sided with the Black Hand." Decian's throat was dry. "Poros and Menav are gone too; the Empire’s hold on this frontier is loosening."

  Galer's jaw tightened. He looked at one of his officers, then back. "We hit heavy resistance on the highways. The Black Hand ambushed us three times during the march. Our cabs kept them off, but they were confident and more organized than we had been briefed on."

  "They've been raiding our supply lines and stockpiles for weeks now with insider knowledge, growing fat and bold. I have Alta’s Governor in custody under treason charges."

  "That explains it." Galer gestured north into the darkness. "There's a grove about two miles up. It's good ground to make camp. We scouted it coming in."

  Decian looked where he pointed, but couldn't see anything. "Show me."

  They walked up a low rise beside the highway. At the top, Galer pointed northeast. "There."

  Decian followed his arm to a darker mass against the night sky. Trees clustered together on rising ground.

  "It’s dry, got good sight lines, and there’s a clean stream running through the eastern edge."

  It would work. They needed the rest.

  "We'll camp there. Give everyone here thirty minutes, then we move."

  "Yes, sir."

  They walked back down. His officers had already started organizing the halt. Troops sat on the pavement or lay flat, already sleeping. Some drank from canteens.

  Decian found Cato near the convoy. "Get them moving in thirty minutes."

  "Yes, sir."

  He kept walking. Looking for truck four. He found it near the middle with Varro standing beside it.

  Decian looked at him questioningly.

  "He’s stable, sir. Medic’s been with him the whole time." Varro's voice was quiet.

  “Thank you for staying with him."

  Decian climbed into the truck with a slight groan. Marcus lay on a stretcher secured against the side. His face was pale under the electric lamp overhead. The medic sat beside him, checking his pulse.

  She looked up. "Sir."

  "How is he?"

  "He’ll live, sir, more than likely. I’ve got him sedated; that kidney took some serious damage." She gestured to the bandages around Marcus's torso. "I've done what I can with field equipment, but he needs a real hospital. He’ll lose it if a surgeon doesn't see to it soon."

  Decian looked at his brother. Marcus's chest rose and fell steadily. Peaceful.

  "How long can he ride this out?"

  "Days, if we keep him stable. But the sooner we reach Nexia, the better."

  He nodded. His hands stayed at his sides even though he wanted to reach out.

  "Keep me informed."

  "Of course, sir."

  He climbed down. Varro was waiting.

  "He'll make it. He's tough."

  "He's an Accardi, sir. He'll make it."

  Decian looked at the young man who reminded him so much of himself and walked away with a nod of his head.

  Thirty minutes passed. The column reformed and began moving north.

  They reached the grove an hour later. Trees rose dark against the stars. The ground was firm when they entered the tree line.

  Decian found his engineers. "Make it a Legion camp. I want the ditch lines dug and the palisade up within two hours."

  The lead engineer nodded. "Yes, sir."

  He left them and walked off aimlessly, lost in his thoughts.

  "Sir."

  He turned. Cassia stood behind him with her clipboard.

  "Our perimeter's been established. Prefect’s Galer and Hadrian are working on the watch rotations."

  "Good."

  "I also had your tent set up near the command section."

  “Thank you, Cassia,” Decian murmured as he walked away.

  The moon rose over the trees as he made his way through the growing camp. Full and bright. Silver light spilled across the grove, touching everything — the tents, the trucks, the soldiers moving between positions. It made the world look clean. Peaceful even.

  Tomorrow would bring whatever came next.

  Tonight, he slept under the moonlight.