Reincarnated In Submission |work| – Fresh

Then I stood, brushed the dust from my small dress, and walked out of the tent into the chaos of the rebel camp. Men were looting, burning, howling for the Warlord's head. None of them looked twice at a quiet child.

He died staring at me. Not with hatred. With recognition.

The first thing I remembered was the cold. reincarnated in submission

"I don't need a sword," I said. And I smiled—a smile that belonged to Seris, to the three dead women before her, to the cold weight of the Axis turning in my chest. "I only need to serve."

I did.

And I began to wonder if submission—true submission, freely given—might finally be my way out, instead of my cage.

That was different. That was dangerous in a new way. Then I stood, brushed the dust from my

And for the first time in four lives, Seris's memory hesitated.