I love her in white.
A thought I should not be having.
A feeling I should not allow.
Delia meets my gaze without fear. Her dark eyes are steady.
Curious. A little wary—but not of me.
Never of me.
And at that thought, something deep in my chest clenches.
She insisted on coming, yes.
But the truth?
The truth is, I didn’t argue as hard as I should have.
Because even after a single day, she’s become important to me in ways I don’t want to admit. Not even to myself.
She shouldn’t be.
This is not a place for her.
Not a place for anything soft or new, or fragile.
The Ember Vein is dangerous.
The camp is unstable.
And I am worse.
But still… she’s here.
Still, I let her stay.
Because for the first time in a long time, someone sees me not as a Lord, or a weapon, or a monster.
Just as a man.
And that might be more dangerous than anything that waits in the dark.
My gaze roams over her from head to toe and back again.
The firelight licks along the edges of her curls like it knows her already.
I reach for her hand.
“Delia,” I say, voice low, “these are my blood brothers. The Lords Kael of the Water, Alaric of the Sky, and Dagan of the Earth.”
Her mouth opens, a polite greeting forming, but I can see the wariness in her eyes.
The measured way she holds herself.
She is used to reading danger in a room, my Shula.
She knows there is no such thing as a safe stranger, only one who is temporarily still.
