He knows what he’d do in war: he’d attack. He’d move. Forward. Unwavering in the face of fear. But war had alwaysbeen easier than grief. Grief doesn’t give commands. It just waits for weakness.
So he’d move. Because containment becomes stagnation.
And stagnation becomes…
His thoughts cut off sharply as sound breaks the corridor beyond his door. Soft. Measured.
A knock follows—controlled, deliberate. Two strikes. Evenly spaced.
Not a soldier’s signal.
Not a messenger’s urgency.
He knows that rhythm. Not from experience, but from the way his own pulse responds to it. His hand stills against the ring. For a long moment, he does not move. Then he lifts his head toward the door.
“Enter.”
He sees the honey-gold curls first. Unbound and spilling over her shoulders, her back, her chest.
His heart stutters at the sight of her.
Beautiful.
His body reacts before discipline can suppress it. But he keeps his expression neutral. Unreadable. As he always does.
Seren steps across the threshold—dirt smeared across her face, mingling with the healing wound. Leathers tattered and frayed at her knees.
Despite convincing himself he could let her go, he finds himself standing, striding across the room, and brushing the coiled strands of her hair from her face. He shouldn’t know the texture of her hair this well already. Shouldn’t crave touching it again the heartbeat after he lets go.
“You’re hurt,” he snaps, eyes darting across her body cataloging injuries.
A small smile breaks free from her lips, as she catches his hand in her own.
“I’m fine,” she soothes. “Just scrapes from that godsdamned ocean again.”
Her brow furrows in frustration, eyes narrowing to slits.
“Did you use what I taught you?” he asks, trying to keep his voice controlled, but he knows he sounds desperate.
She moves his hand now, guiding it to rest on her chest. Her heartbeat presses into his palm, fast and alive, and a hot, reckless surge rips through him.
Teddy stills. He doesn’t breathe. Not because he doesn’t want to touch her—he does.
Gods, he wants to touch her.
Wants to pin her against the nearest wall and forget every promise he’d ever made.
That’s the problem. Because every part of him hums in resonance with her touch.He feels alive.For the first time since Tali was taken from him, something foreign sings in his veins. Not happiness. Not joy. Not peace. It’s different.
This feels more dangerous than peace. Because peace has never made him want more.
He wants to move, to advance on the future he craves. But Tali rises unprompted in his mind. And with her, thoughts of betrayal. Disloyalty. Dishonor.
Letting himself enjoy this—this moment, this touch,her… it’s sacrilege. It’s straying from a promise carved into him.
Seren doesn’t avert her gaze. She holds. Waiting for him to soften, to accept her touch, to lean in.
He stares at her—eyes like honey and home. They draw him in as if they have their own gravitational pull. He can already imagine exactly what would happen if he stopped resisting.
