A Taste of the Prose: “Major,” she whispered, her breath hitching as he stepped into her personal space, smelling of gunpowder and expensive sandalwood. “You can’t order my heart to stand at attention.” ​Rajveer’s gaze didn’t flicker. He leaned in, his voice a low vibration. “I don’t want it at attention, Arya. I want it AWOL. With me.”