“Attentive.” I finally ease out of her, rolling to the side and pulling her against me. “Maximum impact.”
She laughs—quiet, genuine, satisfied. The sound settles in my bones with unexpected weight.
Mine.
THIRTY-SIX
KASTER
Afterward, we lie tangled on the shelter’s stone floor.
Her head rests on my shoulder. Her leg drapes across mine. Her hand traces patterns on my ribs that might be unconscious or might be deliberate—either way, I find I don’t mind.
I’ve never been comfortable with touch. Proximity means vulnerability. Contact means someone close enough to strike. But her touch registers differently. Her presence fills the space that vigilance used to occupy.
The sun has set. Stars emerge through the shelter’s entrance—stars in natural darkness, no interference distorting their light.
“This is strange.” Her voice breaks the comfortable quiet.
“Which part?”
“All of it.” Her hand stills on my ribs. “Not running. Not fighting. Not constantly calculating how long until the next attack.” She lifts her head. Looks at me with expression I’ve learned to read. “I don’t know how to exist without threat defining every moment.”
“Neither do I.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s honest.” I pull her closer. Let my arm tighten around her waist with possession that has become reflex. “We’ve both been surviving so long, we’ve forgotten any other way to live. Learning different ways to exist takes practice.”
“Practice.” She laughs—quiet, genuine. “You make it sound like combat training.”
“Similar principles apply.” My hand traces up her spine. “Repetition. Adjustment. Attention to detail.”
“And what are we practicing, exactly?”
I consider the question. Find the answer waiting.
“Permanence.” The word carries the finality I bring to kills. “The kind that has nothing to do with survival necessity. The kind where we stay because we want to, not because we must.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Her breath warm against my skin. Her body fitted against mine like she was designed to occupy that space.
“I want to.” Her voice drops to match the darkness. “In case that wasn’t clear. I want this—the territory, the permanence, you. All of it.”
The words land in my awareness with satisfying weight.
“I know.”
“Arrogant.”
“Observant.” I turn my head. Press my mouth to her hair. “I’ve been watching you choose this since before we killed the god. Every moment you stayed when you could have run. Every time you reached for me instead of away. Every instance where survival wasn’t the only thing keeping you at my side.”
She shivers. Not from cold.
“You noticed.”
“I notice everything about you.” The words come without resistance. “I’ve been cataloging your responses since the moment you stumbled into my hunting grounds. First to assess threat. Then to predict behavior. Then because watching youbecame necessary in ways that had nothing to do with tactical advantage.”
“Kaster.” My name carries weight I don’t fully understand. “You’re being unusually verbose.”
