Chapter 4: Border Justice

I woke in a small guest room, light streaming through thin curtains. Every muscle ached, my shoulder throbbing worst of all. The memory of Mason’s ambush was crystal clear, my anger bubbling just below the surface.

My first thought was to grab my phone, call him out right then and there—make him answer for what he’d done. But before I could even get my feet under me, the door swung open.

"Princess… Officer, you’re finally awake. If you hadn’t woken up, this old vet would’ve had to head back to Chicago with my tail between my legs."

It was Old General Tom Lewis, a legend in his own right, white hair wild, glasses perched on his nose. He looked relieved, but wary, as if he half-expected me to explode.

I took a deep breath, reined in my temper. No point wasting time on theatrics. "General Lewis, were there any shortages in the supplies this time?"

He chuckled, easing into the room. "With you personally escorting them, those troublemakers wouldn’t dare mess around."

Relief washed through me. Finally, something had gone right.

Lewis pressed on, voice dropping. "It’s dangerous here. I’ve already arranged for a squad to escort you back to the city right away."

I arched an eyebrow, gave a cold laugh. "So eager to send me away? Afraid I’ll press charges for disrespecting the family?"

Lewis’s gaze flicked to the ceremonial sword in my hand—the one Dad gave me before I left, heavy with family history. It was supposed to keep everyone in line, and people here still respected a symbol, even if they didn’t care about titles.

Lewis straightened up, all official business now. "That punk dared treat you like that. I already had him whipped twenty times; he’s been kneeling at the door waiting for your verdict."

I recognized the move—punish him first, preempt whatever wrath I might bring down. Clever old fox, hedging his bets like any good Chicago politician.