Isolde sat behind the massive mahogany desk in the library of Powers Manor. The room was silent, save for the ticking of a grandfather clock.

She held a newspaper in her hands. The Capital Financial Times.

The headline screamed in bold black ink: VANCE SHIPPING EMPIRE COLLAPSES AMID SAFETY SCANDAL.

Isolde traced the headline with a manicured fingernail. A cold, satisfied smile played on her lips.

In her past life, the Vance family had been untouchable. Their ships had leaked oil into the pristine bays of the southern coast, killing the wildlife and ruining the local economy. They had covered it up, paid off the inspectors, and used their profits to fund the opposition party-the party that eventually executed her family.

Not this time.

This time, Isolde had leaked the safety reports three months early. She had shorted their stock through a shell company.

The door opened. Duke Elliot walked in, carrying two cups of coffee. He placed one on the desk.

"You look like the cat that just ate the canary," he said, leaning against the edge of the desk.

"The canary was poisonous," Isolde said, folding the paper. "I just made sure it choked the right predator."

Elliot took a sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim. "The Vance heir had a hunting accident this morning. Shot in the leg. They say he'll never walk without a cane."

Isolde didn't blink. "Karma is efficient."

"Is that what we're calling it now?" Elliot asked. "Karma?"

"We call it necessary housekeeping," Isolde said. She stood up, smoothing her skirt. "Is the car ready? Julian and Stone are landing in an hour."

"The motorcade is waiting," Elliot said. He set his cup down. "Isolde."

She stopped. "Yes?"

"You're shaking."

Isolde looked at her hands. They were trembling slightly.

It wasn't fear of the Vance family. It was the date.

October 14th.

In her previous life, this was the day her sister, Seraphina, died in childbirth. Stone hadn't been there. He had been delayed at the front. Seraphina had given up. She had bled out calling his name.

"I'm fine," Isolde lied. "Just excited to see them."

"You're a terrible liar," Elliot said. He walked over and took her hands in his. His grip was firm, grounding. "Whatever happens, we handle it. Together."

Isolde nodded. She couldn't tell him. She couldn't say, My sister is scheduled to die today.

They got into the armored limousine. The drive to the airfield was tense. Isolde kept checking her watch. Every minute felt like an hour.

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through her chest. A phantom pain. Her intuition-the strange, somatic link she had to her timeline-was screaming.

"Turn around," Isolde said.

The driver looked in the rearview mirror, confused. "My Lady?"

"Turn around!" Isolde shouted. Her voice cracked. "Go to the Stone residence! Now!"

"Isolde, the plane..." Elliot started.

"Seraphina," Isolde gasped, clutching her chest. "She's early. Something is wrong. I can feel it."

Elliot didn't argue. He pressed the intercom button. "Change of plans. Stone Residence. Code Red speed."

The heavy car swerved, tires screeching as it pulled a U-turn across the highway.

Isolde pulled out her phone and dialed the Stone house.

Busy signal.

She dialed again. Busy.

"Pick up," she hissed. "Pick up, damn it."

She looked at Elliot, her eyes wide with panic. "If we're late... if Stone isn't there..."

"He's landing now," Elliot said, typing furiously on his own phone. "I'm sending a helicopter to the tarmac to pick him up. He'll meet us there."

Isolde stared out the window as the city blurred past. She prayed to a God she wasn't sure believed in her anymore.

Change the fate, she begged. I gave you Vance. Give me Seraphina.

The Stone mansion was in chaos.

Maids were running back and forth with basins of hot water and towels that were already stained red. The air smelled of metallic copper and lavender panic.

Isolde burst through the front doors, Elliot right behind her.

"Where is she?" Isolde screamed at the butler.

"The master bedroom, My Lady," the butler stammered, his face pale. "The doctor says... he says the bleeding won't stop."

Isolde didn't wait. She hiked up her skirt and sprinted up the grand staircase.

At the top of the stairs, she collided with a wall of noise. Screams. Her sister's screams.

Isolde threw the bedroom doors open.

The room was hot and stifling. Seraphina was on the bed, her skin the color of ash. Her eyes were rolled back, unfocused.

"Seraphina!" Isolde rushed to the bedside. She grabbed her sister's limp hand. It was cold.

"Isolde?" Seraphina whispered. Her voice was a ghost. "I'm tired. I want to sleep."

"No!" Isolde shook her. "You do not sleep! You hear me? You fight!"

"I can't..." Seraphina's eyes fluttered shut. "Tell Marcus... tell him I tried."

"Tell him yourself!" Isolde yelled.

Suddenly, a roar came from the hallway.

"Move! Get out of my way!"

General Stone charged into the room. He was still wearing his desert fatigues, covered in dust. He looked like a madman.

He fell to his knees beside the bed. "Seraphina!"

Seraphina's eyes snapped open. The sound of his voice was like a jolt of electricity.

"Marcus?"

"I'm here," Stone choked out, gripping her face with his rough hands. "I'm here, baby. I'm home."

Behind him, a pale and sweating Julian was wheeled into the room by Imogen. He took one look at the situation, his professional instincts overriding the agony in his side.

"Get those fluids running wide open!" Julian barked at the terrified attending physician, his voice strained. "She's in hypovolemic shock! Elevate her legs! Now!" He gripped the armrest of his chair, his knuckles white, fighting a wave of dizziness.

The room exploded into action. Stone held Seraphina's hand, whispering promises, begging her to stay. Julian shouted orders from his chair, his medical authority overriding the panic.

Isolde stood back, her heart pounding against her ribs. She watched the monitor. The heart rate was dropping.

Beep... beep... beep...

"Push!" the midwife shouted. "One more time, My Lady! For the General!"

Seraphina looked at Stone. She saw the fear in the eyes of the man who never feared anything. She took a deep, ragged breath. She screamed, a primal sound of defiance against death.

And then... a cry.

A thin, high-pitched wail that cut through the tension like a knife.

The midwife held up a small, wriggling bundle.

"It's a boy," she wept. "It's a boy."

Stone buried his face in the mattress and sobbed. Great, heaving sobs that shook his massive frame.

Seraphina smiled weakly. "Marcus..."

Stone looked up. He took the baby, wrapping it in his dirty fatigue jacket. He held it down for Seraphina to see.

"Look," he whispered. "Look at him. He's a fighter. Just like you."

Isolde leaned against the doorframe. Her legs gave out. She slid down to the floor, burying her face in her hands.

Elliot was there instantly. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

"You did it," he whispered into her hair. "She's safe."

Isolde nodded, tears soaking Elliot's expensive suit. The timeline had bent. Death had come for the Stone family, and they had sent it away empty-handed.

Julian sat in his wheelchair, wiping sweat from his forehead. Imogen stood behind him, her hands resting on his shoulders. They shared a look. A look that said: We survived.

The mansion was quiet now. The guests had gone, the doctors had left.

In the master bathroom, General Stone stood in front of the mirror. He had finally taken off his jacket.

He hissed as he peeled his undershirt off. The fabric was stuck to his back.

He hadn't told anyone. When the mortar hit the depot, a piece of shrapnel had grazed his back. It wasn't deep, but it was ugly. A long, jagged tear across his latissimus dorsi.

He grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a towel. He bit down on the towel and poured the alcohol over his shoulder.

The burn was blinding. He groaned, bracing his hands against the sink, his knuckles turning white.

"Marcus?"

Stone froze. He spun around, trying to hide his back.

Seraphina was standing in the doorway. She was wearing a silk nightgown, holding onto the doorframe for support. She looked weak, but alive.

"What are you doing?" she asked softly.

"Nothing," Stone said quickly. "Just... cleaning up."

Seraphina walked into the room. She moved slowly, wincing with each step. She walked around him.

She gasped when she saw his back. The angry red line, the dried blood.

"You're hurt," she whispered. Her fingers hovered over the wound, afraid to touch.

"It's a scratch," Stone lied. "Julian took the real hit."

"You idiot," Seraphina said, but there was no heat in it. Her eyes filled with tears. "You came home like this... you held me... and you didn't say a word?"

"You were busy," Stone tried to joke, but his voice cracked. "You were pushing a human out of your body."

Seraphina took the towel from his hand. "Sit down."

"Sera, you should be in bed..."

"Sit. Down."

Stone sat on the edge of the tub. He was a General who commanded thousands of men, but he didn't dare disobey his wife.

Seraphina gently cleaned the wound. Her touch was light, reverent. She kissed his shoulder, right above the cut.

"I thought you weren't coming," she confessed softly. "When the pain started... I thought I was going to die alone."

Stone turned and pulled her into his lap. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling the scent of milk and baby powder.

"Never," he swore. "I will burn the world down before I let you go alone."

They sat there for a long time, holding each other in the silence of the bathroom.

"Have you named him?" Stone asked.

"Victor," Seraphina said. "For victory."

"Victor Stone," Marcus tested the name. "Sounds like a tank commander."

"He will be a poet," Seraphina argued with a smile.

A knock at the door interrupted them. It was Isolde.

"Sorry to interrupt the love fest," Isolde said, leaning against the doorframe, holding a thick envelope. "But a royal courier just dropped this off."

Stone took the envelope. It was heavy cream paper, embossed with the Royal Crest in gold leaf.

He opened it.

INVITATION TO THE VICTORY GALA

In Honor of General Marcus Stone and the Heroes of the Border War.

"It's next week," Stone said, tossing the invitation on the counter. "I hate galas."

"You have to go," Isolde said. Her eyes were sharp. "Julian is getting a commendation. And... I think he's planning something."

Seraphina raised an eyebrow. "Planning what?"

Isolde smiled, a secretive, knowing smile. "Let's just say Imogen better get a manicure."