Ryusoke stormed into the army camp, his men barely able to keep up with his pace. The moment he arrived, he barked at the nearest soldier, "Where is my wife?"
The soldier straightened, startled by the urgency in his tone. "He's in your personal tent, my lord."
Without another word, Ryusoke strode through the camp, his jaw tight, his hands clenched. His soldiers, who had been celebrating the arrival of food, fell silent as he passed. They could see the storm brewing in their general's expression.
When he reached the tent, he didn't hesitate. Pushing aside the entrance flap, he stepped in—his sharp eyes immediately locking onto Nori.
His wife was standing in the middle of the tent, looking around curiously, as if inspecting the place he would now be staying in. He was still in his traveling clothes, dust from the road clinging to the fabric, his usually pristine appearance slightly disheveled from the journey.
Ryusoke's breath hitched for just a moment. He was here. Safe.
