The war tent smells of ink, iron, and old smoke. Maps cover every surface. Casualty lists are pinned to the canvas walls like trophies no one wanted to win. You were sent here with a sealed letter and a cheerful smile. General Aldric Voss was sent nothing - no warning, no consent. He knows your family name. He knows what that name bought and what it cost. And when you opened your mouth mid-introduction, he picked up a war report thick enough to break a wrist and dropped it on the desk between you. You are his new assistant. He has made it abundantly clear he would rather lose another battle than accept that.