My boots hit solid ground—then I run.
“Lyra!”
She barely has time to brace before I crash into her, arms locked tight. She lets out a sharp exhale but clutches me back just as fiercely.
“You reckless lunatic,” she hisses—half fury, half relief. “Don’t ever do that again!”
I laugh, breathless. “I can’t promise that. I’m a dragon rider now!”
Lyra pulls back, eyes scanning me for injuries, for proof that I’m real and whole.
“Whatever,” she mutters. “I hated every second of that. But gods—she’s beautiful.”
Utter joy still surging through me, I hug her once more before spinning on my heel—
Valen.
Without thinking, I throw my arms around him. He goes rigid—caught off guard—and I laugh. Valen is not a man of touch. Not of impulse or open affection. But after a beat, his arms come around me—firm, brief, certain.
“You did well, Amara,” he murmurs against my hair. “I knew you would.”
I pull back, grinning. “You knew all along, didn’t you?”
His lips quirk slightly. “Of course I did.”
Warmth blooms in my chest, but I don’t stop moving. Because there’s one more person I need to see.
Thane.
Standing just a few steps away, arms crossed, expression unreadable—always unreadable.
I don’t think.
I move.
I slam into him, throw my arms around his neck, and press against him—unrestrained, unthinking, unstoppable.
He stiffens—of course he does. I’ve never hugged him before.
But I can’t help it because elation rules me.
Slowly, his arms come around me. And in that moment—we are not warriors or training partners. We are not the Spiritborn and the Warlord.
We are just two people standing on the edge of something unspoken.
I pull back slightly and meet his eyes.
Smoke-gray intensity gazes back at me. I fall into them, and before I can think or second-guess the rush in my chest—
I press my lips to his.
Quick. Impulsive. Full of victory, adrenaline—everything spilling over.
Thane freezes, his lips stiffening.
His breath catches, fingers tightening on my back. Like he wasn’t prepared for this. Like he never let himself imagine it.
For a fraction of a second, I feel it—the hesitation, the instinct to stop. To pull away before it can go further.
