The warmth of his embrace clung stubbornly to her skin when he moved back, a ghostly pressure that refused to fade. For a moment she sat in the echo of it, fingers twitching with leftover sensation, as though her body hadn’t caught up to the absence.
He didn’t look away. His gaze lingered, soft, almost fragile, before he rose to his feet and extended a hand to her. The invitation was unspoken, yet insistent.
She placed her fingers in his. His grip closed around hers, steady, helping her rise and guiding her toward the bed.
He sat first, taking the only place meant for two in the room. The desk had just a single chair, but the bed could hold more. A small, practical choice. But the ordinariness of it grounded her. It made him belong here, in this narrow space that was never meant for two.
Her eyes returned to him, drawn irresistibly to the shape he’d taken. His human form.
The difference was subtle, yet impossible to ignore.
The wings gone, their absence almost startling, though she could still imagine the span of them folded behind his shoulders.
His auburn hair caught in the lamplight, strands slipping forward when he tilted his head. And his eyes, green, clear, bright, retained that same impossible clarity. Though in this shape they seemed sharper, like glass catching the edge of a flame.
She reached for his hand again, intertwining their fingers. Brushing against his skin was like brushing against a contradiction.
It was warm. Too warm. Too human.
Her brows furrowed slightly as she turned his hand over, as though it were an artifact she’d stumbled upon in some forgotten archive.
Larger than hers, heavier, alive in a way that unnerved her. She traced the ridges of his knuckles, the faint etched lines of his palm, the curve of bone beneath the skin. Pressing her thumb to the pad of his finger, she startled at the give, the living texture.
Her lips parted, but no words came. Cataloguing was safer than naming. Safer than admitting the truth that threatened to rise. So she did just that. Filing the details, the proof that he was real, that he was here. That he hadn’t left.
“Uncomfortable?” His voice was light, tinged with a smile she could almost feel before she saw it, “I can always switch back, if you’d prefer.”
Her throat tightened, “no. Just... amazed,” the honesty slipped out too quickly, “I’ve never seen magic this... tangible.”
His chuckle was soft, genuine, “so I take it I should stay this way?”
She nodded once, small, decisive.
But something gnawed at her, and the pause before her next words stretched thin, “is it hard? To maintain the appearance?”
“Not really,” his thumb brushed absently across her knuckles as if to demonstrate, “the shift, yes. That takes focus. But once it’s in place?” His smile tilted, “as easy as breathing.”
Her hands moved almost of their own accord, covering his with both of hers. He didn’t resist. He let his hand rest in hers, pliant, obedient, as though he’d decided the indulgence was hers to claim.
“Then stay,” she whispered.
Stay in this form. Stay himself. Stay here. Don’t leave.
She locked the thought away, deep in her chest where he couldn’t reach it.
But his brow lifted, the faintest flicker of recognition glinting through, and his smile brightened. Not delayed, not distorted, but wholly his again.
The smile she’d missed. The warmth she’d feared lost. She let herself bask in it, just for that heartbeat.
“So...,” he leaned back slightly, bracing himself with the hand she didn’t hold. His voice was careful, measured, “will you explain it to me? Your train of thought. Why did you suddenly think I was angry, that I’d leave?”
Her gaze jerked to his. Curiosity shone in his eyes, tempered, patient. Too much for her to hold.
She dropped her eyes away, attempting retreat, loosening her grip on his hand. But he caught her fingers again, a quick refusal, and before she could resist, he dropped himself back onto the bed, tugging her down with him.
He closed his eyes, almost playfully, “I won’t look if you’re feeling shy. But please, answer me.”
He passed her a pillow, pressing it lightly to her arms. She pulled it against her chest and then over her face, hiding. His chuckle vibrated low, warm, unconcerned.
Her voice fought its way out, muffled by the pillow, “I thought... you’re part of the test. The one that will shift.”
She slid the pillow down just enough to peek at the ceiling above her, words spilling as if the cracks had split too wide to hold them, “they made Tiran take back his word. Took away the only thing I could rely on.”
Her breath hitched, jagged. His thumb brushing steady lines across her skin.
“I thought they’d sent you,” she admitted, “to make me rely on you. And then- then they’d take you away too,” her voice shook, sharp edges scraping her throat.
“When you acted different, I thought... it meant the order had come. That you’d do it. That it would happen now. That’s why everyone keeps giving me hints, however vague. Because they know the shift is coming.”
Her words folded the room into a hush. She dragged the pillow up over her face, as if weight could press the thought down. He stilled beside her, even his breathing softened to avoid breaking the fragile quiet.
After a long, thin instant, long enough for the clock to remind them both that time still moved, his voice slipped out, raw and small in a way she rarely heard. “...how can I convince you that I won’t leave?”
Silence stretched, thick and patient. It waited for her to answer and punished the space where an answer should be.
She inhaled, slow and trembling, holding the breath until it burned behind her ribs. When she spoke it came like a rationed thing, measured and terrible in its honesty, “promise me. If it’s finally time for you to leave, whatever the reason is... kill me, or at least tell me, so I can do it myself. Don’t leave me hanging.”
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The words landed and the room seemed to hold its shape around them. He didn’t move at first. The only sound was the faint rasp of fabric and the soft thud of their hearts.
Her chest locked tight. She lowered the pillow slowly, searching his face.
No anger. No betrayal. Not even the impatience she braced herself for. His breath caught sharp, but his stillness was deliberate, controlled. Yet her pulse surged, frantic.
He could leave. He could. He would...
“Is that what you were thinking before, when I came earlier today?” His voice was quieter, stripped bare, “that you’d die in my hand?”
“...Yes,” the admission dropped like a stone. Precise, exact. A warning she’d whispered to herself too many times. Her fingers clenched at the pillow without her noticing.
He didn’t move. Only pressed his thumb against the back of her hand. Firm, grounding. She flinched faintly at the contact.
“No,” his head shook once, slow, deliberate, “I’m not promising you that. Because I’m not leaving. Not now. Not later. Not like that.”
Her lips parted, closed again. The silence throbbed with the force of her heartbeat.
“If you’re waiting for me to vanish,” his voice steadied, quiet but unyielding, “you’ll be waiting forever. I told you. I’m staying.”
Her fingers twitched. A tick, a measurement. The only way to test reality.
“You’re stuck with me,” he finished, “that’s the only promise you get.”
Her eyes widened the slightest fraction. Relief battled unease in her chest, tangled tight.
Her throat worked, “...why?”
She couldn’t pull away from his face now, searching for cracks, for hesitation, for the shadow that would reveal this as another trick. But his expression held. Intent, unwavering.
“That, I’ll tell you when you finally choose to flee with me.”
Her stomach knotted hard. She wanted to ask, to demand, but fear coiled tighter around her tongue, “...and if I refuse?”
“Then nothing changes. I’m still here. You’re stuck with me. You’d better get that through your head soon.”
Her free hand lifted, tapping the collar, the faint metallic sound sharp in the quiet, “I still can’t accept that offer. They’ll know. You know this has a kill switch. They’ll hunt you after. I don’t want that.”
A flicker passed through his eyes, there and gone too fast for her to name. His mouth tightened, as if catching up to something belated, a correction smoothed into place before she could press it.
His hand came down over hers, steady and firm, grounding the tremor in her fingers. For one brief second, her muscles loosened, almost giving in. But the shiver in her body betrayed her mind’s refusal to quiet.
“Then brand this to your mind. I’ll be here.”
She blinked.
Why? Why so determined?
Her chest constricted, words spilling before she could bite them back, “you’ll be here. I’m stuck with you.”
His smile was small, almost proud, as he dipped his chin in quiet approval.
He lifted their joined hands, pausing with them suspended between their faces. His eyes narrowed faintly, as if some thought had caught him mid-breath. But he didn’t speak. Instead, he shut his eyes, holding still, letting silence carry the weight of his vow.
Her pulse thundered, each beat twisting fear and relief and longing together until she couldn’t separate them.
She wanted, too much.
To believe. To trust. To surrender to the solidity of his vow. But the lack of explanation gnawed at her.
Why? Why wouldn’t he leave, when anyone else would have already?
Her fingers twitched again, brushing the seam of his hand as though exploring it. Real, steady, present.
He shifted his grip, answering her twitch with quiet steadiness. The tether between them thrummed.
Neither of them spoke. Neither of them had to.
She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his hand soak against her trembling fingers. Not trust, not safety, but proof.
Proof that, for now, he was still here.
Kion's POV
Room 203, Binding Post Inn, Brandholt City
She had gone quiet at last, the pillow half-swallowing her face, fingers still faintly twitching against his hand.
Kion stayed still, barely breathing, until her rhythm evened out. Until the raw edges in her voice dissolved into the gentler cadence of sleep.
His thoughts slid back, unbidden, to the first night he’d met her in the ruin.
Back then, the faintest shift would rouse her, her body taut even in slumber, always braced.
Now, she slept deeper. She barely stirred even while he remained awake beside her, even without his sleeping aid.
As if she trusted him to keep watch against the world clawing outside the room. Against anyone but him.
Or maybe it was only exhaustion. The Accord wringing her dry, body and mind, until even her sleep had no fight left.
Or maybe she just didn't care anymore.
He didn’t care about the reason. Only that she slept better when he was near.
That was all that mattered.
He drew her hand carefully toward him, pressing the softest kiss against her knuckles.
A gesture he would never have risked in her waking hours. For a breath he lingered, cheek brushing her skin, before easing back.
They were still sprawled sideways on the bed, their knee crooked awkwardly at the edge, feet braced against the floor. He exhaled, shifting with care. Inch by inch he drew his hand free, slid the pillow away from her face.
She didn’t stir. Only the faint tremor of her lashes gave her away, some fleeting dream passing through her before stillness claimed her again.
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. Not the bright, painted grin he could conjure in a heartbeat, but something thinner, more fragile. A flicker too weary to last.
He lifted her with a breath of levitation, just enough to settle her properly on the narrow mattress. The blanket whispered over her shoulders as he pulled it close, tucking her in with a care he wasn’t sure he deserved to feel.
For a moment he hovered there, fingers resting lightly against the warmth she’d left on the sheet, tempted to stay close enough to feel it linger.
Her words came back to him like a blade pressed slow against his ribs.
Kill me, or tell me so I can do it myself.
He had smiled through cruelty before, masked every sharp sting he’d ever had to swallow. But not this.
He couldn’t. He didn’t know if he was supposed to smile, supposed to answer.
The tether flared, bright and jubilant, coiling tight around him. Singing at her words, rejoicing that she would rather die than lose him. That she could not picture a world without him.
Relief, triumph, hunger, all tangled together.
It should have felt like victory.
Proof he had broken through her walls. Proof she had let him in. Her willingness.
The first fragile threads of tether she’d tied with her own hands.
But his chest clenched instead.
Wrong.
So terribly wrong.
Because if he was ever forced away, not by choice, but by something greater than his will, he wouldn’t just lose her. He would feel her death through the tether.
Feel her blade plunging, her last breath bleeding into him.
The thought alone made him shudder.
He should talk to Lurean. A signal, a relay, anything to prove they were both alive, both waiting.
So a silence wouldn’t be mistaken for abandonment. So her desperation wouldn’t end in self-destruction.
And then there was the collar. That cursed weight.
If it truly carried a kill switch, if it tracked her, if the Accord even suspected she leaned too near him, everything would unravel. Too quickly.
A rare thought struck him almost like mercy, gratitude for the canyon. That reckless day when she had refused his first offer.
If she had said yes... if she had come with him, the hiding place would have been exposed, Glitterstorm slaughtered, Writ executed before he could ever pull her free.
His hands curled tight against his knees. Loosened again.
The memory of her studying his hand rose again, unbidden. The way she had turned it over, traced each line, pressed his knuckles.
It hadn’t been a lover’s touch. Not closeness in the way most people meant it.
Her gaze had been too sharp, her expression too bare, too analytical.
And yet... the intimacy of it gutted him.
She hadn’t realized what she’d shown. That in her examination there had been no walls, no calculation. Just her, raw and unfiltered.
A trust so fragile it made his chest ache.
He released a slow breath.
His taller form shimmered, blurred, then folded inward. Wings unfurled, his body shrinking back to its truer size.
Easier this way.
If she woke, she would see only what she knew, not a looming stranger bent over her bed.
He flicked the mana lamp off, floating a pillow from the corner. Settling at the far side of the mattress, he perched with knees drawn up, wings folding close.
Too close, maybe. Too close to the tether’s hum, its constant whispering pull.
But he couldn’t bear to retreat. Not tonight.
Maybe never again.
His leave ended today. He had slipped word to Euri that she wouldn’t be interrogating tomorrow, and so technically he had no reason to follow her further.
He hated it. Hated that she would walk alone again.
So he would take every scrap of closeness tonight. Every breath she allowed him.
The faint shimmer of his wings bathed the dim room in the softest light. His gaze fixed on her sleeping form.
Once, she murmured something into the pillow. His head lifted sharply, heart catching, until he realized the sound meant nothing. Just the slip of dream-speech.
He exhaled, quiet and shaky, then let his head rest against the fabric under him.
He stayed, watching her, until the pull of sleep claimed him too.