The Commander (Dominion Hall #3)

ANNA

The air smelled like salt and summertime. It was the kind of night that made the world feel softer, slower, like the ocean had exhaled just for us.

Charleston stretched behind us in a warm amber glow, the skyline silhouetted against the deepening blush of the horizon. Gas lamps flickered along the waterfront. Spanish moss swayed in the breeze. Somewhere behind the clinking of rigging and the hush of the tide, a heron lifted into the sky like the evening was a thing to rise toward.

Atlas held my hand as we stepped down the private dock, the planks creaking beneath our dress shoes. He wore navy again—classic, tailored, devastating. Just like the first night I met him. Except tonight, the weight in his shoulders was different. Lighter. Like some part of the war inside him had settled.