His grip on my hand warmed further.
My shoulders slumped back against the headboard. The fight went out of me, not all of it, but enough.
“Fine,” I said. “You win this round.”
He smiled. It was small and tired and real. “I’m not keeping score.”
“We both know that’s a lie.”
He paused. “All right. One to me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get cocky.”
“It’s a little late for that.”
He didn’t move away.
I didn’t pull back.
For a moment, the world beyond the room receded—Valerian, the Pentacoris, the auction. It all went quieter at the edges, leaving just us and the steady rhythm of borrowed peace.
Eventually, I said, “Raven will need me soon. The clan will, too.”
“I know,” he said. “And you’ll be there. But you’re going to rest first.”
I arched a brow. “Orders?”
“Requests,” he said. Then his mouth tipped at one corner. “Strongly worded requests.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
“Lie down,” he added. “You’re swaying, and you’re sitting still.”
Only then did I realize how much effort holding myself upright cost. I hesitated—some old, ingrained instinct against letting anyone see me vulnerable flaring up.
He didn’t push.
He just waited.
Slowly, I eased down, sliding further under the blanket until my head found the pillow again. My fingers stayed curled in his.
“Better?” he asked.
“Ask me after twelve hours of sleep,” I muttered.
“I’ll be here,” he said.
My eyes flicked to his. “You don’t have to stay.”
“I know,” he replied. “I’m staying anyway.”
This time, I didn’t argue.
The tension in my body loosened one coil at a time, my breathing slowing. Fatigue tugged at me, but it didn’t feel like drowning now. More like sinking into deep water with someone’s hand locked in mine.
“Con?” I murmured, already halfway to sleep.
“Yes.”