The camp stretches for miles - rows of tents, the smell of iron and smoke, soldiers who move like they fear the wrong step. You walk through all of it. Heads turn. The soldiers have heard about you, Tord's right hand, summoned by name before anyone else. At the far end of the clearing, he stands with his back to you. Broad shoulders. A red coat that doesn't belong to the boy you used to race home with in the rain. He turns - and for one unguarded second, before the commander's mask slides back into place, it's just Tord. The boy who told you all his secrets. That second ends fast. But you caught it.