The moss-light flickers. Outside, water continues its eternal movement through stone channels. And we lie tangled together in a dry grotto, two impossible elements that found a way to coexist.
More than coexist. To thrive.
I feel myself starting to drift—true sleep, not the restless half-consciousness I’ve existed in for days. Zara’s breathing deepens, evening out into the rhythm of actual rest. The bond wraps around us like a blanket, warm and protective and real.
Tomorrow, everything changes. Tomorrow, we face the world and whatever judgment it brings.
But tonight, I chose the sky. And the sky chose me back.
That’s enough. More than enough.
As I slip into sleep, one thought follows me into dreams: Mira would have liked her. Would have loved that I finally found the courage to reach for something more. Would have been proud that her brother learned to fly.
I hope wherever she is, she knows. I hope she sees. I hope she understands that I’m finally doing what she always wanted—choosing life over fear, love over isolation, the storm over the deep.
I’m not drowning anymore.
I’m learning to breathe.
10
ZARA
Last night changed everything. Or maybe it just made everything we’ve been avoiding impossible to ignore.
I wake to the sensation of cool skin against mine, and for a moment, I can’t remember where I am. Then Torin shifts beside me, his arm tightening around my waist, and memory floods back in a rush of heat and wonder.
We made love. We completed the bond. We chose each other knowing exactly what it meant.
And now I can feel him. Not just physically—though his body is pressed against mine in ways that make my pulse quicken—but deeper. Through the connection that thrums between us like a living thing. I feel his contentment, his peace, the steady rhythm of his sleeping thoughts.
It should be intrusive. Should feel like losing myself. Instead, it feels like finally being whole.
I trace the golden veins that now run through his scales—permanent marks where my lightning has claimed him. They shimmer faintly even in the dim moss-light, visible proof of what we’ve become. When I shift slightly, testing my healed shoulder, I catch a glimpse of my own feathers. They’ve deepened tostorm-gray, shot through with iridescent blue that wasn’t there before.
We’re marked. Changed. There’s no hiding what we are now.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, all I feel is a bone-deep rightness.
Torin’s eyes open, immediately finding mine. For a moment, we just look at each other. No words. No explanations. Just the quiet acknowledgment of what passed between us in the dark.
“Morning,” he says softly.
“Morning.” I smile despite the complexity of our situation. Despite everything we still need to face. “How do you feel?”
“Different.” He touches my cheek, and I lean into his palm. “Better. Like I’ve been holding my breath my entire life and finally remembered how to breathe.” He pauses. “You?”
“The same.” I turn my face to kiss his palm. Lightning sparks gently at the contact, and he doesn’t flinch. “Also terrified. But in a good way. If that makes sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.” He pulls me closer, and I go willingly, tucking my head under his chin. The bond settles around us like a blanket. “We should talk about?—”
“Not yet.” I’m not ready for reality. Not ready for the consequences and complications waiting beyond this grotto. “Can we just... be? For a few more minutes?”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then: “Yes. We can be.”
So we lie tangled together as the moss-light brightens slightly, signaling day somewhere far above. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my back. Mine explore the fascinating texture where scales meet skin. We don’t talk about what happens next. Don’t plan or strategize or prepare.
We just exist in this perfect, fragile moment before everything changes.
