The Iron Oath marks its recruits the moment they pass through the gate. Company, rank, worth — all decided before anyone's earned a thing. Reva knew that going in. She signed anyway.
What she didn't plan for was the hound.
The bond is already on her skin by the time the Order of the Iron Hound comes looking — iron-dark knotwork pressed close to her collarbone, chosen by something that doesn't answer to any institution and isn't interested in her permission. She's been claimed by a power that operates entirely outside the structure she's trying to survive inside. The people who understand what it means aren't offering reassurance. They're offering warning.
Thorn Company is where the Oath puts recruits it hasn't decided whether to break or use. Reva fits. So does Hadden — steady, observant, already in her company before she can convince herself it doesn't matter. The slow burn between them is the most honest thing inside the Hold and the worst-timed thing she's ever let herself feel. She can't seem to stop feeling it anyway.
She came to the Oath on her own terms. She's starting to understand the Oath doesn't care about her terms.
Two marks. Two claims on the same body. Only one of them chose her back.