Varek ignores both of us. His attention has shifted back to Shanae. “You said the scrolls are being studied?”
“They are.”
“And the rifts?”
Her expression grows more serious. “They’re mentioned and have insight.”
The words hang there, heavy with implication. Because if the research coming out of the citadel is even half as important as it sounds, then the rebellion might finally understand the very thing that brought all of us here.
The rifts themselves.
And that kind of knowledge could change everything.
The thought hangs in the tunnel between us like the echo of a struck bell.
For a moment none of us speaks. The drainage chamber suddenly feels smaller, the stone walls closing in around the weight of everything Shanae has just said. Water drips somewhere deeper in the tunnel system, each soft plink against stone carrying farther than it should.
Shanae shifts her stance first, rolling one shoulder as if reminding herself she’s been standing in damp tunnels for longer than planned.
“I should go,” she says. “The others won’t slow down much. If I move now, I’ll catch them before the ridge.”
Varek studies her for a moment, his expression thoughtful but already sliding towards decision. That’s the thing about him.He doesn’t hesitate for long once the shape of the problem becomes clear.
“You travelled alone?”
“Mostly,” she says with a small shrug. “The first stretch, anyway. The route was clear.”
His brow furrows slightly at that, the protective instinct he carries for everyone under his command showing through in the slight locking of his jaw. “You should not have risked the forest without escort.”
Shanae gives him a look that is half fondness, half challenge. “Pur-lease. I could run these paths with my eyes closed.” She winks at me, and I grin.
Varek exhales slowly through his slender nose, the faintest hint of resignation crossing his features. For a moment, the commander slips away and the Nyxerian male beneath it shows through—the one who has spent years surviving alongside the same handful of beings who became something closer to family than a group of random refugees.
“Return safely,” he says quietly.
“Always do.” Shanae glances at me then, her perceptive eyes flicking between us like she’s interpreting something neither of us has actually said. “Well,” she says, clapping her hands lightly together. “Try not to brood too long. It’s unattractive.”
“Your advice is noted,” Varek replies dryly.
She laughs and steps backward into the drainage tunnel, lantern light dancing across the wet stone as she disappears into the darkness.
Within seconds, the soft echo of her footsteps fades. And then it’s just the two of us.
The silence that follows feels heavier than the one before. The lantern beside me crackles faintly, its light throwing long shadows along the tunnel walls. Somewhere beyond the archway, the drainage channel curves away towards the outervalleys where the escaped group will already be making their slow climb towards safety.
Varek doesn’t move. I don’t either. But the bond between us shifts. It’s subtle and aware.
The past month has changed something between us.
Ten years ago, we barely understood each other. Everything between us had been too raw, too tangled in grief and anger and the sudden violence that had bound our lives together.
Now…
Now we’ve shared quiet mornings in the warehouse, arguments over food supplies, and long stretches of silence where neither of us felt the need to fill the space with words.
Small things where we’ve learnt the rhythm of someone else’s presence. And I’ve been careful not to think too hard about how much easier it’s started to feel.
“You should return,” I say finally. The words come out rougher than I intended.
