“You’re exhausted.” The words slip out before I can filter them.
“I killed a god.” His mouth curves—not quite a smile, but close. “Some fatigue is expected.”
“You never show fatigue.”
“I’m showing it now.” His hand hasn’t left my face. His thumb continues its slow movement, tracing the planes of my face like he’s memorizing them. “Because there’s nothing left to fight. Nothing left to stay alert for. The hunt is over.”
The fighting has ended.
The words settle into my awareness with weight I wasn’t expecting. For weeks—longer, if I count the time before I found him—my entire life has been defined by running. By fighting. By surviving long enough to maybe survive another day.
Now there’s nothing to survive.
The god that hunted us is dead. Its monsters will fail without its will sustaining them. The hierarchy that sanctioned our elimination has been dealt a blow it won’t recover from quickly. For the first time since the dreams started dragging me toward a death I couldn’t escape?—
We’re safe.
“What now?”
The question spills out before I consciously form it. My voice sounds strange in the absence of combat.
“Now we leave. Find ground that belongs to us.” His thumb stills on my cheekbone. “Space where nothing watches. Nothing hunts.”
It sounds simple when he says it. Find territory. Claim it. Exist without constant threat of extinction.
The future he’s describing—it’s not peaceful. Not soft. But it’s real. Achievable. And he’s describing it with us in it.
“Kaster.”
His name stops him. His hand still cups my face, his body still radiates heat against mine, his attention still fixes on me with unwavering intensity.
“When we find that territory. When we build what comes after.” I hold his gaze without flinching. “I need you to understand that I’m here because I want to be.”
His expression doesn’t change. He’s heard me make this choice before—in the shelter after fights, in the desperate moments when death seemed certain and I reached for him anyway. But this is after. After the god is dead and every external pressure that drove us together has been eliminated.
“I’m not walking away.” I close the remaining distance between us—not seeking comfort, but making a declaration. My hands find his chest, pressing against the scales that haven’t fully receded. “I’m here. I’m staying. And it has nothing to do with survival anymore.”
His stillness has the quality of a held breath. His attention tracks every shift in my expression, searching for hesitation, for doubt, for any sign that I don’t mean exactly what I’m saying.
He won’t find one.
“Soreia.” My name emerges low, rough, weighted with more than he usually allows himself to express. “I won’t let you go.”
It isn’t romantic or tender. It’s a statement of fact—absolute, immutable, as permanent as the death I anchored into the god’s unraveling essence. He’s not asking. Not negotiating. Not offering escape routes or contingencies.
He’s telling me what’s true.
“Good.” My response lands without hesitation. “Because I’m not leaving.”
We standin the crater for a long moment.
His hand stays on my face. My hands stay against him. The residue continues to dissipate around us, the world slowly accepting that the god is gone and isn’t coming back.
When he finally moves, it’s to take my hand.
Not reaching for me—taking. His clawed fingers close around mine with possession that has become native between us. His grip is warm from the fire that burns beneath his skin, steady despite the exhaustion that shows in every other line of his body.
“We should go.” His voice has settled back to business. “The crater will attract attention eventually. Other predators wondering what died here.”
