William bent down slowly and picked up the tag. He turned it over. His fingers traced the deep gouge across the metal.

He looked up. His eyes bypassed his furious bride. They bypassed the ruined veil. They locked onto the woman bleeding on the floor in a torn combat uniform.

The color drained out of his face. The polished aristocratic groom vanished, replaced entirely by the soldier who had survived hell.

William sprinted.

He didn’t go to Chloe. He shoved past her hard enough that she stumbled. He slid to his knees on the glass-covered marble beside me, ignoring the blood soaking into his custom tuxedo.

He looked at my face and wiped the blood out of my eye with his bare hand. Then he saw the rank insignia pinned to the center of my tactical vest.