"He reached the mirror and gripped its frame, knuckles white. The face that stared back was not his. Gone was the beard, the hard lines, the scar. Gone was the look of perpetual, weary cynicism that had followed him for ten years. In its place - a boy. Soft. Untouched. Eighteen years old, with stormy grey eyes that held the arrogant dissatisfaction of a nobleman's heir who had never once suffered. His legs gave way. He slid down the wall, staring at his younger hands, and laughed - a dry, broken sound. The laugh of a man who had just understood a very dark joke. Then the laughter died. Something colder took its place. A slow smile stretched his unfamiliar lips. It felt wrong on a face this young - a predator's grin on a faun. He had no army. No name worth anything. No scars to prove what he was. He had something better. He knew the future." Cassian Thorne spent ten years hunting the men who destroyed his family. He killed every last one of them. Then a mercenary's blade found his back, and he died in the mud with nothing but a hollow victory to his name. He woke up eighteen again. Same bedroom. Same disgraced title. Same enemies - still alive, still powerful, still completely unaware of what's coming. He has no army. No allies. No scars. Just the memory of every mistake he ever made, and exactly how to fix them. Some men are given a second chance at life. Cassian intends to use his as a weapon.
