“My power,” K says quietly. Intense. Like he’s trying to pour the weight of the world into two words. “It has been keeping you alive. Anchoring you. Since the helicopter. Since I—” He stops. Swallows. “You need me close. Do you understand?”
The words make my throat constrict. Clinical. Practical. Like I’m a problem that needs managing instead of—
Instead of what? A person he cares about?
Get real, Mara.
“Yeah,” I manage. Force something like a smile. “I figured that out. So I’m basically a magical life-support case. Cool. Love that for me.”
Something flickers across his face. “Mara—”
“Kael.” Caleb is back again. More insistent. “The Syndicate knows we hit the facility. They’re going to retaliate. We need to move assets, coordinate with the other clans, and get our people to safety.”
K turns slightly. Not enough to lose sight of me, but enough to acknowledge Caleb.
“Then we move them.”
“Including Mara.” Caleb steps fully into the doorway. Behind him, I catch a glimpse of Dorian, arms crossed, looking grim. “Viktor’s arranging transport back to the Aurora outpost tonight. She’ll be safer there while we deal with Vex. Clean up this mess.”
My heart does something painful.
Away from here. Away from K.
Away from the only thing keeping me alive.
“No.” K’s voice is absolute. Final.
Caleb’s eyebrows rise. “It’s the most secure location we have. She’ll have medical care, protection—”
“No,” K cuts him off. “She stays.”
“Kael, be reasonable. We need you here to interrogate Vex. To coordinate with the clans. To—”
“Then she stays here.” K’s hands curl into fists at his sides. “With me. Where I can—” He stops. Something crosses his face. Frustration? Resignation? “Where I can maintain the bond.”
The words burn.
Where I can maintain the bond.
Not “where I want her.” Not “where she’ll be close.” Just “where I can maintain the bond.”
Like I’m equipment that needs monitoring. A responsibility he can’t delegate.
Caleb’s expression shifts. Understanding dawns, followed quickly by calculation.
“You have a… bond?” he asks.
Kael nods. “A healing bond. It’s how she survived the crash.”
“This complicates things,” Caleb says, a nerve twitching near his eye. “And the bond requires proximity,” he adds slowly. Not a question.
“Yes.”
“How much proximity?”
K’s jaw works. “I do not know the exact parameters. But distance—significant distance—would be… unwise.”
Unwise. Such a careful word. Such a “king” word.
