The sixth bell rang, the sound carrying thin through the sky like metal struck underwater. Sunset bled across the rooftops. Streaks of copper and violet fading into the blue, the last warmth leaking from the stones. A breath of night rose with it, cool wind smelling of soot from the lamps just being lit, the faint musk of damp mortar. It pressed against her cheeks, tugged strands of wig loose.

  Only then did Kion ease his hold. Reluctance clung to him as his arms loosened, as if some part of him hated to give space back to the air. His hands slid down, caught hers, and pressed her knuckles to his cheek. She let him. The heat of his skin against her chilled fingers steadied something deep inside.

  “You can open your eyes now,” he said, voice soft, thinned at the edges with breath he hadn’t quite caught.

  She obeyed slowly, lashes lifting. His face swam into view. Drawn but still there, still him, not fading into an illusion. Relief swelled, sharp and aching. He hadn’t pushed her away.

  “Let’s go back...?” The words escaped shaky.

  A shadow crossed his brow. He shifted, rolling one shoulder. The movement snagged into a wince before he smoothed it away.

  “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head, “I don’t think I can handle the city right now. I’d rather be here,” he lowered their joined hands, forcing a rueful smile, “the watch will come soon, but I can cloak us. We can just... talk. Have to move a bit away from the door, though.”

  She studied him in silence. Sunset painted hollows beneath his eyes, the tightness around his mouth. His wariness wasn’t distance. It was exhaustion still burning in his limbs. Her stomach pinched.

  She was the one pressing him. Making him stay here when the sky itself was telling him to rest.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, ducking her head.

  “Not your fault. I’m the genius who volunteered,” he patted her hair, the crooked smile saying he knew exactly how bad that joke was.

  Her chin dipped lower, “don’t... fake cheerfulness.”

  He caught her face with gentle fingers, lifting until her eyes met his, his nose almost brushing hers, “sorry. But that’s how I cope. Since you’re stuck with me, I hope you can bear it for a while.”

  Her throat tightened, but she squeezed his hand back, “...alright. I will.”

  “Thank you for finding me,” he murmured, “I’d probably still be splitting barriers if you weren’t here. Still convinced it wasn’t safe to stop.”

  The scrape of boots and low chatter swelled from the guardroom nearby. Writ froze.

  “They’re coming,” Kion said, already tugging her toward the shadow by the door. He settled them down against the wall, a pulse of magic brushing her skin. Invisibility, she guessed. Her stomach knotted at how unnatural it is, to hide in plain sight while the hinges groaned. Two men stepped out, talking freely.

  She slid closer to Kion. He noticed and simply took her hand, fingers warm, steady.

  The guards circled the parapet, checking the outer wall first. Writ tracked their steps with her eyes, every muscle tense. Kion, by contrast, leaned back, eyes closed, as if enjoying the night air. His thumb stroked her knuckles, unconcerned.

  He cracked one eye open, “we can always jump down, if you prefer.”

  She blinked, stared at him, jump?, before darting her gaze back to the men, now drifting toward the town side.

  “How long do they usually stay?” she hissed.

  “Random. Ten minutes if they want to go home. Longer if one of them’s carrying baggage. Record’s an hour.”

  She listened. The guards’ talk sharpened, something about his son gambling away his wife’s jewelry.

  Her shoulders sank, “...seems like it’ll be the long kind.”

  “Yeah,” Kion agreed, rising to stretch, “let’s just move.”

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  He offered his hand. She stared at it, suspicion prickling, “are we really going to jump?”

  “Yup. Just like the waterfall. You’re safe with me,” his bubble cinched tighter, enclosing them, “and, soundproof. So it’s fine if you shout. Better if you do, honestly,” his grin warmed the words.

  She swallowed, “...may I just use the stairs?”

  “Too slow. You’d have to open the door, and they’d see,” he gestured toward the men, still deep in complaints.

  The bubble lifted, tugging her upward. Panic jolted.

  She grabbed his arms. He patted her hair, “sorry. I insist this time.”

  Air thinned. They drifted above the parapet. Writ’s grip dug into him, teeth gritted. He caught her hand in return, lacing fingers.

  “Shout it out,” he urged.

  She only stared. Shouting had never been safe. Her throat locked, hands cold as ice. Yet his smile stayed. Steady, confident, tired but still there.

  “Threeee...” he began.

  “Wait, Kion. Aren’t you tired?”

  He arched his brows, continued anyway, “twooo...”

  “Do you even have enough mana for-”

  “One!”

  The bubble tipped. The world fell away.

  “Wheeee!” Kion whooped, reckless delight tearing through the air.

  Her body remembered other falls. The kind that punished, silenced, shrank. But his arms locked firm around her, holding.

  Wind roared in her ears. And from somewhere unguarded, a sound ripped free. Raw, jagged, utterly unplanned.

  “Aaaaahhhh!”

  Not neat. Not proper. Just a scream.

  She braced for shame, for the harsh snap of correction. Instead, only his laugh came, bright and uncomplicated, filling the space beside her cry. Because he shouted too, her voice wasn’t danger. It was breath.

  Grass rose. The bubble slowed. They landed soft, the world snapping back into place.

  Her knees trembled, air stuttering in her lungs. For a moment she couldn’t tell if the shaking came from fear or something else, something lighter. The rush still raced under her skin, a pulse she didn’t want to lose. It wasn’t punishment. It wasn’t a fall meant to break. It was flight.

  She sagged into him as he guided them down, still hovering a little above the earth.

  “That wasn’t too bad, was it?” His grin shone, pride sparkling through fatigue.

  A laugh broke out of her. Half-sob, half-breath. It startled her, how bright it sounded. Her chest hurt in a new way, not from dread but from the leftover rush of being alive. Tears pricked, but she pressed closer. He wrapped her in, lowered them both to the grass. She leaned on his shoulder, clutching his shirt tight, letting the tremors fade one by one.

  For once, the quiet after a scream didn’t punish. It held.

  “You did great,” he said, fingers combing gently through her hair.

  She looked up, met his gaze and whispered, “you too...”

  His smile brightened, wide enough to rival the stars emerging overhead.

  Silence stretched. She tried to steady her breathing, slow the wild thump of her heart. The world was suddenly stranger, fuller.

  That she could scream and still survive. That someone could hold her through a fall without letting go. Twice, even.

  That making a sound didn’t mean vanishing.

  She waited.

  The grass beneath her back was softer than stone but cold enough to bite, as though it meant to remind her of where she lay. Each blade pressed damp against her cloak, holding her too firmly to the earth. The wind carried a mix of scents. Resin from the trees just beyond the wall, the faint musk of damp soil, a sharper note of smoke drifting from the city behind.

  And from farther still, the steady clutter of wheels over cobblestones. Carts and carriages creaked along the road outside the gate, their iron rims catching now and then with a metallic scrape. All of it was distant, yet too present to ignore. Anchoring her in the world when she longed to float outside of it.

  Warmth cut through that cold and noise. Their hands stayed linked, his grip tightening for a few breaths before loosening again, as though he were checking that she hadn’t slipped away. His shoulder pressed against hers. Solid, near, a counterweight to the uncertainty pressing at her chest.

  But he didn’t speak. His gaze flicked skyward, then to the inside of his lids, and only when she stared too long did he answer with a small, unguarded smile. Once, she caught the faintest hum. Tuneless, cut short the moment he realized it escaped. Once, a thoughtless tug on her hand as if to pull her closer though she was already there.

  Even so, the exhaustion clung to him. She saw it in the restless flex and twist of his wrist, the way his neck stretched as though resisting an ache that wouldn’t let go.

  The blood stiffening on his sleeve offered no explanation. He gave none either. No words about whether he was hurt beneath the glamour, no offer to shift back to the other shape and let her see. He held the silence as though it were a cloak, and she... she tried to honor it.

  So she stared instead, holding her questions like a leash pulled taut. Curiosity pawed and tugged, urgency pricked sharp, but she bit it all back. He had given her space when she needed it. She could do the same.

  She told herself she was used to this. Used to silence. The Accord never gave full answers, never let her reach beyond what they handed down. She had lived with that kind of withholding for years.

  And yet... it burned different now. This silence pressed at her pulse in a way the Accord’s never had. She had to calm her breaths again and again, had to force her thoughts not to run too far ahead, weaving horrors out of a single missing word.

  Kion was alive. Here. His warmth bled steady against her side. He was only processing, just as she often did. She had her own queue of things unsorted, unspoken, untouched. She should tend to that.

  But instead her focus circled back to him, again and again. Her chest reaching toward answers he never voiced. Her heart stuttering each time the stars above glittered in reply where his mouth stayed closed.

  She told herself this was enough. That he hadn’t left. That was the point that mattered most.

  So why was it so hard to believe it?

  Why did “enough” still feel so thin in her hands?