While Isolde was setting fire to a senator's life in the capital, hundreds of miles away, on the sun-scorched border of the Karyan Desert, the sand was everywhere. It was in the water, in the food, in the folds of the bedsheets. It coated the back of the throat like a second skin.

Dr. Julian Harris stepped out of the surgical tent and pulled his mask down. He took a deep, ragged breath, but the air at the Forward Operating Base wasn't fresh. It smelled of diesel fuel and dried blood.

He was exhausted. His hands, usually steady as a rock, had a faint tremor. Twelve hours. He had been stitching bodies back together for twelve hours straight.

He walked toward the water station, his boots crunching on the gravel. That's when he saw her.

Lady Imogen Sterling.

She shouldn't be here. She belonged in a drawing room in the capital, wearing silk and drinking tea. Instead, she was kneeling in the dirt next to a wounded corporal, wrapping a bandage around his leg.

She was wearing oversized scrubs that swallowed her small frame. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a messy knot, strands escaping to stick to her sweaty forehead.

Julian felt a physical ache in his chest. It wasn't the fatigue. It was love. A terrifying, overwhelming love that had no place in a war zone.

He walked over and gently took the gauze from her hands. "Let me."

Imogen looked up. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but clear. "I had it, Julian. I'm not helpless."

"I know," he said softly. He finished the wrap with efficient, practiced movements. "But your hands are shaking."

He took her hand. Her skin was rough. The expensive lotions she used to use were a distant memory. Her fingernails were cut short, dirt embedded under the rims.

"You look terrible," he said, smiling.

"You look worse," she countered, but she didn't pull her hand away.

They walked to the edge of the perimeter, leaning against Julian's dusty jeep. The sun was setting, painting the desert in violent shades of orange and purple. For a moment, it was beautiful.

"General Stone says we might rotate out next week," Julian said. He unscrewed a water bottle and handed it to her. "Back to civilization."

Imogen took a sip. "I don't know if I remember how to be civilized."

"I have a plan for that," Julian said. He turned to face her. The impulse hit him hard. He didn't have a ring. He didn't have a speech. But he needed to say it. "When we get back... I'm going to speak to your father."

Imogen froze. The water bottle paused halfway to her lips. "Julian..."

"I'm serious, Imogen. I'm done waiting. I'm done pretending that we're just 'childhood friends'. I'm going to ask for your hand."

Imogen lowered the bottle. Her eyes filled with tears. She opened her mouth to speak, to say yes, to say he was crazy.

Thump.

The sound was dull. Distant. Like a heavy book dropped on a carpet.

Then the siren screamed.

It cut through the air, a high-pitched wail that made teeth ache.

"Incoming!" someone roared.

The first mortar shell hit the supply depot, fifty yards away. The ground heaved. The shockwave hit Julian like a physical blow, knocking the wind out of him.

He grabbed Imogen, throwing them both to the ground behind the jeep. Debris rained down on the metal hood-clods of dirt, shrapnel, burning pieces of crate.

"Stay down!" Julian yelled over the ringing in his ears.

"The patients!" Imogen screamed, trying to scramble up.

"No!" Julian pinned her down. "Wait for the lull!"

Gunfire erupted at the perimeter. It wasn't just shelling. It was a breach.

General Stone came running out of the command tent, his sidearm drawn. He was shouting orders, his voice booming over the chaos. "Secure the medical tent! Protect the wounded!"

A figure lunged from the shadows near the generator. He was dressed in the rags of a local villager, but he moved with the precision of a trained killer. He held a knife. A long, serrated blade that glinted in the flickering light of the fires.

He was heading straight for Stone's exposed back.

Stone was distracted, firing at a target near the gate. He didn't see him.

Julian didn't think. He didn't calculate the odds. He just moved.

He pushed off the ground, sprinting across the open space.

"General!" Julian screamed.

Stone turned, but it was too late to fire.

Julian threw himself between the assassin and the General. He felt the impact before the pain. It felt like being punched by a sledgehammer.

The knife sank into his side, just below the ribs.

The assassin snarled, twisting the blade.

Stone fired. One shot. The assassin's head snapped back, and he collapsed.

Julian fell to his knees. He looked down. The handle of the knife was sticking out of his abdomen.

He tried to breathe, but his lungs felt heavy.

Imogen was screaming his name. It sounded like she was underwater.

Julian pulled the knife out. It was a mistake. Blood gushed out, soaking his scrubs. But the blood...

The blood wasn't red.

In the light of the burning depot, Julian stared at his hands. The blood was dark. Almost black. And it carried a sharp, corrosive reek, like sulfur and burnt metal.

Poison.

His legs gave out, and the desert sky spun above him, turning into a blur of smoke and stars.

"Get him on the table! Now!"

General Stone's voice was a roar of panic. He had carried Julian into the surgical tent himself, his uniform stained with the dark, toxic blood of the man who had just saved his life.

Dr. Aris, the chief surgeon, took one look at the wound and went pale.

"Clear the room!" Aris shouted at the orderlies. "Get the suction!"

Imogen crashed through the tent flaps. She was covered in dust, her face streaked with tears. A guard tried to stop her, but she fought him off with the ferocity of a wild animal.

"Julian!"

"Hold her back!" Stone ordered, but his voice lacked its usual steel. He was staring at the monitor.

Julian was convulsing. His body arched off the table, his teeth clenched so hard they threatened to crack. The heart rate monitor was screaming-a frantic, staccato rhythm that was too fast to sustain.

Dr. Aris was examining the wound. "It's Viper-X," he whispered. "Look at the necrosis. It's spreading instantly."

"Antidote," Stone barked. "Give him the antidote."

Aris looked up, his eyes hopeless. "The supply depot was hit, General. The refrigeration unit is gone. We have nothing."

The silence that followed was louder than the explosions outside.

"Call the capital," Stone said. "Get a medevac."

"He has minutes, General," Aris said, his voice trembling. "Not hours. Minutes. The neurotoxin will paralyze his diaphragm and he will suffocate."

Imogen fell to her knees. The world was ending. Right here, in this dirty tent, under the flickering halogen lights.

Minutes.

Then, a memory flashed in her mind. A small, cold glass vial.

Isolde.

Before they left, Isolde had pressed a small, chilled kit into Imogen's hand. "It's a new broad-spectrum antivenom from the Powers labs," she had said, her eyes intense, almost scary. "Experimental. But if anyone gets hurt... really hurt... use the blue vial. Don't ask questions. Just use it." At the time, Imogen had thought her sister was being paranoid. Now, it felt like prophecy.

Imogen scrambled for her med-kit, which was still strapped to her waist. Her fingers were slippery with sweat and blood. She ripped the zipper open.

There it was. A small, unmarked blue ampoule.

She grabbed a syringe.

"What are you doing?" Dr. Aris yelled as Imogen rushed the table.

"Get away from him!" Imogen shoved the doctor aside. She didn't care about protocol. She didn't care about sterility.

"Imogen, stop!" Stone stepped forward.

"Trust me!" Imogen screamed, turning to face the General. She held the syringe up like a weapon. "Isolde gave this to me. She said it would save him."

Stone froze. Isolde. The woman who had predicted the Levine scandal. The woman who seemed to know things before they happened.

Stone looked at Julian's face. His lips were turning blue. He was dying.

"Let her do it," Stone said.

"General, that's insanity!" Aris protested. "We don't know what's in that!"

"Do it!" Stone roared.

Imogen didn't hesitate. She jammed the needle into Julian's thigh, right through the fabric of his pants, and depressed the plunger.

For ten seconds, nothing happened.

The monitor continued its frantic beeping. Julian's chest heaved in shallow, useless gasps.

Then, he went rigid.

His eyes flew open. They were completely dilated, black pools of terror. He let out a strangled cry, his back arching so violently that his bones popped.

"He's going into cardiac arrest!" Aris yelled, reaching for the paddles.

"No, wait," Imogen whispered. She grabbed Julian's hand. It was ice cold. "Stay with me. Please, Julian. Stay with me."

She squeezed his hand so hard her knuckles turned white.

Suddenly, Julian gasped. It was a massive, sucking intake of air, like a drowning man breaking the surface.

The monitor went silent for a second, then beeped.

Beep.

Beep.

Slower. Stronger.

The black lines spreading from the wound on his side stopped. They didn't recede, but they stopped moving toward his heart.

Dr. Aris stared at the readouts. "Impossible," he muttered. "His vitals... they're stabilizing. The toxin is being neutralized."

Stone slumped against the metal table, the gun slipping from his fingers. He wiped a hand over his face, smearing soot and sweat.

Imogen dropped her forehead onto Julian's chest. She could hear his heart beating. It was erratic, it was weak, but it was there.

"He's alive," she sobbed. "He's alive."

Outside, the gunfire began to fade. The reinforcements had arrived.

Stone straightened up. He looked at the empty blue vial on the tray. He looked at Imogen.

"What was in that, Lady Imogen?" he asked quietly.

Imogen looked at the vial. She had no idea. But she knew one thing.

"A miracle," she said. "My sister gave us a miracle."

The morning light was cruel. It cut through the gaps in the canvas tent, sharp and bright, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.

Julian opened his eyes.

Pain was the first thing he felt. A dull, throbbing ache in his side that radiated down to his hip. His mouth tasted like metal and ash.

He tried to move, but his body felt heavy, like it was made of lead. He turned his head slightly.

Imogen was asleep in a plastic chair next to his cot. Her head was resting on the mattress, her hand clutching his. She looked wrecked. Her face was streaked with dried mud and tear tracks. Her scrubs were stained with dark spots.

His blood.

Julian squeezed her hand. His fingers were weak, barely a flutter.

Imogen jerked awake. She sat up so fast the chair scraped loudly against the floor.

"Julian?" Her voice was a croak. Her eyes widened, scanning his face as if checking for ghosts.

"Hey," he rasped. It hurt to speak.

Imogen burst into tears. She didn't cry gracefully. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed, her shoulders shaking violently.

"I'm sorry," she choked out. "I'm so sorry. It's my fault. You almost died because of me. I shouldn't be here. I'm a curse."

Julian frowned. He hated seeing her cry. He tried to sit up, but the pain slammed him back down. He groaned.

"Don't move!" Imogen panicked, hovering over him but afraid to touch him. "The doctor said you need to be still."

"Imogen," Julian whispered. "Stop."

"I'm going to request a transfer," she rambled, wiping her eyes frantically. "When we get back, I'll break the engagement. I can't let you get hurt again. I'm not worth it."

Julian reached out. It took every ounce of strength he had. He grabbed the front of her scrub top and pulled.

It wasn't a strong pull, but it was enough to bring her face inches from his.

"If you try to leave me," he said, his voice low and gritty, "I will rip this IV out of my arm and chase you down. And I will bleed all over the sand doing it."

Imogen stared at him, shocked into silence. Julian Harris was a gentleman. He was a scholar. He didn't make threats.

"You..." she stammered.

"I didn't save Stone," Julian said, looking straight into her eyes. "I mean, I did. But when I ran out there... I wasn't thinking about the chain of command. I wasn't thinking about the war."

He paused to catch his breath.

"I saw the angle," he said. "If he missed Stone, he was heading for the medical tent. He was heading for you."

Imogen's breath hitched.

"I took that knife for you, Imogen," Julian said. "So don't you dare tell me you're not worth it. You are the only thing worth dying for in this godforsaken desert."

Imogen let out a soft, broken sound. She leaned down and kissed his forehead. Her lips were trembling.

"You are an idiot," she whispered against his skin.

"I'm a doctor," he corrected, a faint smile touching his lips. "I know anatomy. I knew where to get stabbed."

"Liar."

"Okay, liar," he admitted. "Can I have some water?"

Imogen laughed, a wet, sniffly sound. She grabbed a cup with a straw and held it to his lips. He drank greedily.

When he finished, he rested his head back on the pillow, exhausted but content. He watched her. She was fussing with his blanket, checking the monitors. She was alive. She was here.

"Imogen?"

"Yes?"

"That proposal I mentioned before the mortars hit..."

Imogen froze. She looked at him, her expression softening.

"Ask me again," she said. "When we're not covered in blood."

"Deal," Julian closed his eyes. "But the answer better be yes."

"Go to sleep, Julian," she whispered, stroking his hair.

He drifted off, the feeling of her hand on his head anchoring him to the world of the living.