Oeta sat near them, the Nyaviel female’s sharp gaze following every exchange with the same ruthless precision she brought to her work. She hadn’t come to Destima by chance—she was Mwe’s daughter, Selena’s adopted sister in all but blood, sponsored by Selena and the Aldawi to continue her late mother’s reproductive research when the galaxy would have quietly buried it instead.
Odelm watched her with a mix of relief and unease. She was powerful—dangerously so. As formidable as Ryzen, perhaps more. He’d heard the threats she’d made when pushed far enough, the calm certainty with which she’d spoken of stripping minds bare if crossed. Ifthiswas what she was willing to admit aloud, he didn’t want to imagine the full extent of what both she—and Ryzen—might be capable of.
And yet.
She was loyal.
Loyal to Selena. To the clan. To the fragile, defiant future they were trying to build out of grief and war. That loyalty mattered. It anchored her power, gave it direction instead of letting it turn inward and consume everything around it.
For that, Odelm was grateful—more than he let himself show.
At the far end of the table, Ryzen sat apart.
The Verya had accepted the invitation to join them—a small victory, given his self-imposed isolation—but he might as well have been light-years away. He ate mechanically, each bite precise and joyless, his gaze fixed on nothing. The emerald runes along his skin pulsed in slow rhythm, muted compared to their usual erratic flare.
His spirit daggers were missing—thankfully—but Odelm’s relief didn’t last. Ryzen didn’tmisplaceweapons. He breathed with them. Slept with them. Woke already reaching.
So where were they?
Close. They had to be close. Nothing in plain sight. Nothing obvious.
That meant hidden.
On his body, maybe—woven inside his vest. Or tucked somewhere within reach.
Ryzen’s powers reflected his mental state, and that stillness spoke of something beyond grief. Something hollow.
A void where his twin should be.
The Circuli didn’t have true twins, but the thought of losing Xylo—of waking to silence where his bondbrother’s presence should anchor him—
No.He shut the thought down before it could take root.
Selena had stabilized Ryzen somehow. Odelm didn’t understand the specifics—the new connection between them was something outside his empathic comprehension, a thread that wasn’t quite a bond but wasn’t nothing either. Whatever she’d done, it had brought Ryzen back from the edge.
But brought him back towhat?
The hollow male at the end of their table wasn’t whole. He was holding on, but only barely. Only because Selena had given him something to hold on to.
The meal progressed in fits and starts. Zirene spoke quietly to Kaede about security rotations. V’dim and Z’fir debated supply logistics for the fleet. Xylo watched Selena eat with a healer’s critical eye, calculating calories and nutrients and rest she probably wasn’t getting.
Normal sounds. Normal rhythms.
The shape of family gathered around a table, pretending tomorrow wouldn’t shatter everything.
Odelm let his music fill the spaces between conversations. Let it say what none of them could voice:I’m afraid. I love you. Don’t leave.
The melody shifted without conscious thought, finding a livelier rhythm. Something with movement in it. Something that made feet want to tap and bodies want to sway.
Tori’s head came up first. Her eyes brightened, and she turned to her mates with a grin that held none of the evening’s heavy weight. “Dance with me.”
It wasn’t a question.
Auro was already rising, his hand extended. Celyze’s wings fluttered with something like anticipation, and Luwyn laughed—a warm, rolling sound—as the four of them moved away from the table toward the open space near the windows.
They didn’t dance like Aldawi or Circuli. They danced like humans and the males who loved them—close, playful, spinning each other through steps that had no formal name. Tori’s laughter rang out as Auro dipped her, her hair sweeping the floor before he pulled her back up into Celyze’s waiting arms.
Something loosened in the room. The cubs giggled, pointing at the spinning figures. Even Oeta’s severe expression softened at the edges.
