Ezra’s footsteps were slow. Deliberate.

A predator wandering through a battlefield he already believed belonged to him.

Smoke curled around his silhouette, turning him into a specter—half man, half ghost—his dark hair swept back with ruthless precision. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, locked onto Justina with a familiarity that twisted her stomach into knots.

He stepped over a fallen mercenary as though the man were nothing more than an abandoned coat.

He brushed soot from his jacket ...