She is reckless. And I, undisciplined—for echoing her heart.
He didn’t mean to but before he could stop himself, he bent low and placed a kiss against her temple—featherlight, fleeting. The kind of touch that asked for nothing but lingered like a promise. He stayed close for only a moment, then pulled back, scowling at himself.
I’ve lost my mind.
Since when does the Resh’Agar ache for more than the burn of a brief release?
She isn’t my lover.
She isn’t mine.
But, Void damn it all—I want her to be.
Not my Sokâr.
Just my Auryn.
He rose. Dressed in silence—black trousers, boots, loose tunic, bracers, chest plate, a fur-lined cloak to ward off the morning chill. Just before stepping out, he returned to her side. She hadn’t moved. Still deep in whatever realm of sleep she’d vanished into. Resh frowned and reached out again—barely brushing the back of his fingers over her cheek, then the edge of her hand. The chill in her skin hadn’t eased. If anything, it had worsened.
“You’re quiet when I need you most.”
A pause.
“Speak to me when it counts, hmm?”
He leaned down, resting his forehead to hers for a long, quiet moment. The world could burn outside, but in here, this hush, thisstillness—it waseverything.
He kissed the corner of her mouth.
Not like before. Not the swift, chaste press of a temple kiss meant to soothe his own nerves.
No—this was slower. A hush of heat brushed just past her lips. Close enough to mean everything. Close enough to be mistaken for nothing if she never woke to feel it.
And his voice—barely audible—broke on the words.
“Rest. I’ll return soon.”
The camp lay hushed beneath the weight of hard-earned victory—the kind that scarred and left no room for song. The Reskala moved quietly, gathering the varkhounds and their packmothers for burning; their hands sure, their faces grim. Resh circled the area to help secure fences, settle the horses, and check on the condition of the men.
He walked beside Thessia through the inner ring of wounded, moving with his usual deliberation, every motion taut, efficient, restrained. She, by contrast, moved like a blade half-drawn—sharp and prepared but not without grace. Her golden braids swung behind her with each fluid step, and the glint in her violet eyes burned bright. She helped tend to injuries, distribute rations, and make decisions on assignments and patrols.
“I still don’t know what to call what happened out there,” she muttered, nodding to a healer binding up a wounded scout’s leg. “That wasn’t just a rift. It was like somethingrememberedus.”
Resh grunted in agreement, arms crossed as he watched the binding work. “Didn’t behave like the others. The winds were wrong.”
“The whole rhythm was wrong,” she said. “And I don’t like being caught out of step with something I can’t see.”
They walked on. The ground was uneven here—scarred where the ward anchors had faltered. A few of her warriors straightened as they passed, murmuring quiet greetings. One of the younger Blades stepped forward, cheeks flushed, and held out a carved wooden bead wrapped in silver thread.
“It’s for her,” she said. “The Sokâr. We heard she’s resting.”
Thessia accepted it without flinching, slipping it into her satchel. “She’ll be honored.”
They reached the central well, where Thessia paused to refill her flask. “Listen,” she said, wiping her mouth. “We should join forces. At least until Stonewake.”
“More than fifty of you to share our camp, but I don’t have the supplies to feed and mend you,” Resh said.
“We have our own wagon,” Thessia. “My cook’s better than your green kitchen boys anyway. At least she knows how to properly marinade boar.”
