“Incredibly respectful,” she continued.
His brow twitched. Once.
“And enthusiastic about working with us. But especially about—well—me, I think.”
Heknewthat blush now. Catalogued it as intimately as his own armor.
She was waiting for him to crack, to react, to show anything.
He said nothing.
Exactly nothing.
Just schooled stillness, eyes forward, posture controlled, instinct locked behind training older than kingdoms.
Zara narrowed her eyes. “You’re being very…calm.”
“I am calm,” he answered.
“You’renevercalm,” she muttered.
He almost smirked. Almost.
Inside, something growled. A territorial, ancient rattle he refused to let reach the surface.
This was work.
This was a mission.
He would not lose focus over one basilisk flirtation.
Even if Pythorus was here.
Even if Zara would be working beside him.
Even if Hektor already wanted to turn that basilisk to stone and bury him in the Solkaris dunes.
“Let’s proceed,” he said, voice thick with command.
Her lips curved, not bright this time, but knowing.
Shefeltit. The restraint.
And she liked it.
Damn her.
She followed him to the desk, silent now, but humming with suppressed satisfaction.
This desert was going to be torture.
And Zara, he realized with a grim internal curse, was going to enjoy every grain of it.
The next morning sat heavy in his head, like dust that refused to settle, as he ate alone in the hotel café.
Quiet. Blessedly quiet.
No triplets. No Zara leaning into his space with sparkling eyes and impossible questions. No Elian or Liora whispering innuendos just loud enough to infuriate him.
