"Aisha."
The sound of her name, spoken softly but firmly, startled her from her spiraling thoughts. Her gaze, which had been fixed blankly on the floor, lifted slowly. She turned, her body moving almost mechanically, to face the source of the voice.
A shadowed figure stood at the far end of the tent, partially obscured by the dim light and heavy fabric walls. But even in the darkness, she recognized the outline of the armor he wore—the Spartan armor. The same armor she had seen earlier, watching silently as the flames consumed the woods.
That voice…
Aisha froze at the sound. She had never heard such a deep, velvety voice before, but something in its resonance stirred a distant, almost forgotten memory. It was as though a string within her heart had been gently plucked, vibrating with a familiarity she couldn't place. Slowly, she lifted her gaze.
