“Do what you feel is right,” he said, voice flat, too even.
She nodded like that was actual permission. “Okay then.”
And she walked away.
Back toward Pythorus. Back toward comfortable laughter and quiet, easy joking and the brush of hands on elbows.
Hektor watched her take her place at the basilisk’s side.
He wasn’t sure why it felt like a displacement.
Only that it did.
Heavy.
Unsettling.
Unwelcome.
And entirely not his business. Or so he told himself, until the telling sounded like a lie.
They got back into the sand-cruiser, and soon enough the city lights of Solkaris spread below them like molten gold as evening settled. At the hotel entrance, Zara said goodbye and left with Pythorus.
“See you tomorrow!” she chirped, waving at Hektor before turning away.
He lifted a hand, minimal acknowledgment, maximum neutrality, and watched her walk off with the basilisk fixer, her laugh floating back like it belonged here.
Not my problem. Not my concern.
“Elian and I were about to get dinner,” Liora said at his shoulder. “You should come.”
He shook his head. “I should get some rest. Long day.”
Elian snorted. “You can rest after food. Besides, if we leave you alone, you’ll just brood.”
Hektor blinked. “I don’t brood.”
“Sure, you don’t,” Liora snickered.
He gave them a long look. They had no idea. Still…he relented.
“It’s been a while since I’ve worked in Solkaris,” he admitted. “I only know the hotel restaurant.”
“Well, that’s tragic,” Elian declared. “We’ll fix that.”
Liora looped her arm through her brother’s. “Let’s ask the concierge.”
The basilisk concierge, scales a pale opal sheen, considered them. “If you want something authentic, there is a cliffside bar, Adder’s, with an excellent view of the ruins. Music, local fare, and the dusk breeze. It will show you who we are.”
Elian grinned. “Perfect.”
Hektor drove. The city shifted as they left the polished districts, the ancient stonework began to show, sun-cracked pillars, worn etchings, serpentine murals carved into cliffsiderock. It felt old in the way Drakkon instincts recognized:age without surrender.
The bar sat at the edge of a plateau. The outdoor seating was undeniably stunning, the ruins spread below, bathed in amber torchlight, arches and columns like broken fangs against the desert dark.
“I can appreciate the view without baking,” Liora said, heading straight to the indoor section.
Inside, cool air, fans, and low lanterns. They sat near the window, where the ruins still glowed, distant and majestic.
