Chapter 30 – The First Echo.

  Grim stepped out of the tent, expecting chaos. Gunfire. Explosions. The beginning of the end.

  But the war hadn’t begun.

  Not in the way he expected.

  The soldiers around the camp were still tense, still gripping their weapons, but there was no enemy rushing in, no battle cry echoing through the air.

  Just an unnatural stillness. A silence thick enough to strangle.

  And then—

  A gunshot.

  Sharp. Isolated.

  A single bullet tearing through the quiet.

  A girl crumpled to the ground.

  Grim’s breath caught in his throat.

  She wasn’t a soldier.

  She wasn’t even armed.

  A young woman—no older than Ash—lying motionless in the dirt, her dark hair splayed out like ink against the grass. A pool of red blossomed beneath her.

  The silence shattered.

  A soldier—one of the men from the tent—ran forward with a look of pure horror.

  "No—no, no, no—!"

  He fell to his knees beside her, shaking her shoulders, voice breaking.

  "Stay with me, please, stay with me—"

  But she didn’t move.

  She never would again.

  Grim turned sharply, his gaze locking onto the ones responsible.

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  The guards.

  They stood stiffly by the checkpoint, rifles still raised, fingers resting on the triggers.

  Their expressions were blank, almost bored.

  One of the other soldiers demanded, his voice raw with disbelief, "Why the hell did you shoot?!"

  The lead guard shrugged. "She didn’t identify herself properly."

  The grieving soldier’s head snapped up. "What?!"

  "She didn’t state her full name and relation. Could’ve been an enemy pretending to be someone she’s not."

  The soldier clenched his fists, his whole body trembling. "She told you! She told you she was my fiancée!"

  The other guards exchanged unreadable glances, but their leader only adjusted his rifle.

  "Then maybe she wasn’t loud enough. You think we can take risks? You want to be responsible if someone sneaks in and slits your throat in your sleep?"

  "You murdered her!"

  "And if we let the wrong person in, we could get hundreds killed. We followed protocol."

  Grim’s nails dug into his palms.

  He’d seen senseless killings before. Duskwatch was full of them. But this? This wasn’t some gang war, some street thug pulling a trigger over a grudge.

  This was worse.

  Because everyone knew it was wrong.

  The other soldiers—good men, hardworking men, the same ones who had thanked Grim just moments ago—stood there, silent.

  Looking away. Fists clenched but unmoving.

  They knew.

  But no one could do a damn thing about it.

  Grim wanted to tear them apart. He wanted to break something, to lash out, to do anything.

  But he didn’t.

  He couldn’t.

  Because this wasn’t Duskwatch. This was war. And war had rules.

  Even if those rules were rotten.

  But Ash—

  Ash didn’t freeze.

  She moved before anyone could stop her, marching straight up to the guards. Her steps were steady. Cold.

  The lead guard barely had time to react before she struck.

  Her fist slammed into his jaw, sending him reeling backward.

  The other guards jolted, reaching for their weapons—but Ash was faster.

  She grabbed the rifle from the dazed man, yanked it from his grasp, and tossed it into the dirt.

  Then, in the same motion, she stepped forward and kicked him. Right in the ribs.

  The sound of impact was sickening. The guard collapsed, wheezing.

  Ash turned, eyes burning.

  "Is this your war?" she asked, her voice dangerously quiet. "Is this what you’re fighting for?"

  No one answered.

  The guards looked at her, then at the other soldiers—waiting, expecting someone to stop her.

  But no one moved.

  No one helped them.

  Because everyone knew she was right.

  The remaining guards hesitated. The lead one groaned on the ground, too winded to speak.

  And Ash—

  She turned her back on them like they weren’t even worth the effort.

  She walked past Grim without a word, her expression unreadable.

  And Grim?

  He just watched her go.

  His hands were still clenched. His pulse still pounded.

  But something else was there now, tangled in all the rage and frustration.

  Something dangerous.

  Something deep.

  He swallowed, throat dry.

  The war hadn’t started yet.

  But he was already losing.

  Not to the enemy.

  Not to the battlefield.

  To her.

  To the way she made him feel.

  And he hated it.

  Because feelings like this?

  They never ended well.

  End of Chapter.