Zarrek’s gaze sharpened. “Deciding for her again?”
“No.” Kailorien’s voice stayed low, steady. “She’s chosen to stay, and I’ll protect her. Here, or anywhere.”
A silence fell, taut as pulled thread.
Kailorien’s head tipped. He paused. Straightened, then moved. Not commanding; not the tread of a war-god. Bare, deliberate steps across stone as he slipped behind the linen curtain screening the sleeping alcove.
What followed was...unexpected.
A pause. Then blankets rustling. A breath that hitched—not spoken, felt.
His voice came low, so gentle it might have been wind teasing candle flame.
“Easy, you're safe. Did you lose my heartbeat, starlight?”
A murmur answered, raw with sleep.
“I couldn’t feel you. I didn’t like it. It was cold.”
A soft exhale—his—like surrender.
“I’m here,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to drift so far.”
Her voice. Soft. Worried.
Then another beat.
“Lie back down. Your hands are ice. I’ll return soon, and then I’m yours again.”
The silence that followed was stunning.
Talia’s eyes widened. Thessia’s mouth parted, weight rocking subtly back as if she’d glimpsed something sacred and wasn’t certain protocol covered it. Even Zarrek went still.
Kailorien reemerged. His face was carved from calm, but something in his gaze had thawed—quiet as snowmelt. He resumed his place at the table, unconcerned by their scrutiny. No one commented.
“If we stay,” Zarrek began, clearing his throat, “what do you suggest?”
Kailorien steepled his hands before him, brow furrowing in thought.
“Splitting forces to cover all sections vulnerable to aerial attack. Wards shield most of the fortress, but there are blind spots. If even one of the Gliders has Manasight, they will know where to strike.”
“They use bombs, don’t they?” Thessia asked. “Don’t have much experience fighting them.”
“Bombs and glaives,” Kailorien confirmed. “Some magic, but it is limited. Most Gliders have no capacity for mana.”
“The Cycle adds a complication,” Zarrek frowned. “Going to need to look out for rifts.”
“Knowing our luck,” Talia added, “I’d say we should plan for a rift on top of the Glider bombings.”
From behind the partition came the soft scuff of bare feet.
Heads turned.
Auryn emerged, blinking, silver hair tousled around her shoulders. Her nightshift hung off one shoulder, a loose strap slipping down her arm. She was wrapped in a thick blanket that trailed like a faded cape, dragged from the bed. She looked wholly out of place in the war-lit hush, a dream intruding on strategy.
“Kail…?” she mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep. “Come back to bed…”
Her eyes cleared and found the room full of witnesses. She froze. Color rushed to her cheeks. She hauled the blanket tighter.
