Xing Yu never slept in.
Not once in all his twenty-three years had he allowed himself that luxury—he was a Farian general.
Discipline was stitched into his bones. But this morning, something had shifted. After last night's late, meeting Jian and being forced to crash on the cramped couch in his chambers, exhaustion had knocked him into a deeper sleep than he'd expected.
His neck ached from the awkward angle, and the stiff upholstery left his body feeling bruised.
But what truly woke him wasn't discomfort.
It was pain.
Agonizing pain.
A sudden, searing slash cut through the base of his neck, sharp and unnatural—like claws prying into his spine, yanking something vital out of place.
Xing Yu bolted upright with a gasp, clutching the back of his neck as his vision blurred.
He stumbled from the bed, knees buckling as wave after wave of pain coursed through him, his body trembling.
