The bunker's garage was colder than the rest of our underground sanctuary, the chill seeping through my sweater as I stood watching the final preparations. Armored vehicles waited with their engines humming, warriors loading equipment with practiced efficiency.
But I couldn't focus on any of that. All I could see was Kaelen.
My mate stood at the center of the activity, giving last-minute instructions to his team leaders. He'd changed into full tactical gear—black from head to toe, with body armor that made his already imposing frame even more formidable. Weapons were strapped to his thighs, his back, everywhere they could fit. He looked like what he was: a warrior king heading to battle.
"I can't do this," Lyra whispered beside me, her voice cracking. "I can't watch him leave."
I glanced at my sister, seeing the same terror in her eyes that I felt consuming me. She was staring at Ronan, who stood at Kaelen's right hand as always, similarly armed and ready for war.
