Aimee spun on her heel before Aylin could stop her, pushing through the doorway with determined strides. She ignored Olga's exasperated sigh and the healer's muttered curse, her attention fixed on one thing: Sasha.
Her fury burned through her veins like wildfire. The more she thought about Aylin's bruised back, the tighter her fists became. She wasn't blind; she had seen the way Sasha looked at Aylin, how he hovered like a storm cloud waiting to unleash. And yet, he had let this happen?
Aimee stormed through the fortress, her steps quick and sharp. She wasn't entirely sure where he was, but she knew the Tsar had his usual places, and she knew people who could point her in the right direction.
"Where is he?" she demanded as she came across a pair of guards near the entrance to the training grounds.
The older of the two, a burly man named Gregor, raised a brow. "Who?"
Aimee scowled. "You know damn well who. The Tsar."
