“You should rest,” she adds.
“You have said that repeatedly.”
“And you have ignored me with impressive consistency.” Her mouth curves. “I’m starting to take it personally.”
“It is not personal.”
“Everything is personal,” she replies. “Especially when it involves you refusing to sleep.”
I consider that. “You are the one who instructed me in this language. If you didn’t want to hear me refuse to do things, you shouldn’t have taught me your native tongue.”
She laughs softly. “True.”
“I have been informed,” I say, “that my accent is ‘Southern.’”
She makes a choking sound. “Oh, that is absolutely my fault.”
“I do not understand the meaning.”
“It means,” she says, clearly enjoying this far too much, “you sound like you could politely dismantle someone while offering them something called sweet tea.”
“I dismantle people regardless.”
“Yes,” she says. “But now you do it politely.”
“I was not aware that was relevant.”
“It isn’t,” she says lightly. “That’s why it works.”
I incline my head slightly. “Noted.”
For a moment, the tension in the room eases.
Then the pain in my chest spikes again, sudden and precise enough to pull my focus inward. I straighten slightly, controlling the shift before it becomes visible.
Shanae’s gaze flicks to me, but she says nothing. She understands the difference between observation and interference.
A knock sounds at the entrance.
It is too fast. Too uneven.
My attention shifts immediately. “Enter.”
The runner stumbles inside. His breathing is wrong. His posture is wrong. Fear drives every movement tight and erratic.
I know before he speaks.
“Commander—” He swallows. “From the city.”
The pain in my chest spikes. “Speak.”
“Contact lost. Two nights ago.”
The world narrows.
“Clarify.”
“Pax—”
