"He's my brother in everything but blood." Valas stares into his tea like it holds answers. And it makes me care more. "Watching him die is—" Another pause. "Impossible. Unbearable. And I can't stop it."
"You're trying." The words escape before I can reconsider them. "That matters. To him. To Amisra. You're trying when most would have given up."
His eyes find mine across the kitchen. Moon-violet and devastating and full of something that makes my breath catch. "You think so?"
"I know so." And I do. I've watched him. Seen how he pours himself into research, into remedies, into desperate hope. How he shows up every other day without fail. How he brings gifts for Amisra and comfort for Daryn and tries so hard to be invisible around me. "You're a good man, Valas."
The admission costs me something. Costs me armor I'm not sure I can afford to lose. But it's true, and he looks so tired, and I'm so sick of pretending I don't see the goodness in him.
His expression shifts. Surprise, maybe. Or something warmer that I don't want to name. "Coming from you, that means—" He stops, seems to reconsider. "You barely talk to me."
"I know."
"Why?"
The question is gentle. Curious. Not demanding or entitled, just... asking. Like my answer might matter. Like I matter.
I should deflect. Should retreat behind pleasant lies and polite distance. Instead, exhausted and unguarded and so tired of being afraid, I tell him the truth.
"Because I don't trust easily." I wrap both hands around my mug, letting the heat ground me. "Dark elves have never given me reason to. And you—" I force myself to meet his eyes. "You scare me."
He goes very still. "I would never hurt you."
"I know that too." The contradiction tastes bitter. "But you're still a dark elf. Still part of a world that sees humans as property. Still someone who could claim me if you wanted and I'd have no say in it."
The words hang between us, sharp and honest. Valas sets his mug down carefully, like he needs both hands free for whatever comes next.
"I would never claim you." His voice carries absolute conviction. "Not like that. Not without your consent. Not unless you wanted—" He stops, jaw working. "You're not property to me, Keira. You never have been."
"What am I, then?" The question escapes before I can stop it.
He looks at me with those impossible eyes, and I see want there. Naked and undisguised and so intense it steals my breath. "Someone I'd very much like to know. If you'd let me."
My heart hammers against my ribs. This is dangerous. This wanting. This moment where I could say yes or no or something in between. Where I could step closer or pull away. Where everything could change or stay safely, miserably the same.
"I don't know how," I admit quietly.
"Neither do I." A small smile touches his mouth. "But I'm willing to figure it out. Slowly. At whatever pace you need."
The offer sits between us like something fragile. Something that could shatter with one wrong word or break under the weight of everything we're not saying. I should refuse. Should protect myself. Should remember that attraction doesn't mean safety and kindness doesn't erase power dynamics.
Instead, I find myself smiling back. Just a little. Just enough.
"Maybe start with not avoiding each other?" The suggestion comes out tentative. Testing.
"I can do that." Relief washes over his features. "Though I should warn you—I'm terrible at small talk."
"Noted." I take a sip of tea to hide how my hands are shaking. "What are you good at?"
"Healing. Research. Making Amisra laugh." He considers. "Bad jokes, apparently, though Daryn claims they're only funny because they're so terrible."
"Try me."
His eyebrow lifts. "You want to hear a bad joke?"
"I want to see if Daryn is right."
The challenge hangs there. Valas's smile widens, turning almost boyish, and for a moment, I forget to be afraid of him. Forget to see the power difference. Forget everything except how that smile transforms his face from beautiful to something that makes my stomach flip.
