Korr doesn’t look at me, but I feel the shift in him. He stands as if he’s always been meant to be here, exactly where he is, even as the room subtly recalibrates around that certainty.
“You arrive unannounced. You walk our streets. You speak of alliances and salvation. And you expect trust?” Virn asks, folding his arms over his broad chest.
“I expect scrutiny,” I say. “That’s why I’m standing here.”
Silence follows. Heavy. Intentional. Then one of the humans speaks. An older man, voice thin but steady.
“You said epis.”
Every head turns. I nod.
“We have a supply. It’s the reason our camp can work in daylight. Why our human children aren’t burning from the inside out.”
A sharp intake of breath ripples through the humans. Hope flares again, brighter this time. More dangerous. Virn’s gaze snaps back to Korr.
“Andyou,” Virn says. “What do you bring, Urr’ki?”
The question is loaded. This is where a Zmaj would speak of strength. Of territory. Of protection offered in exchange for loyalty. Korr does none of that.
“I bring no claim,” he says. “No demand. No treasure taken.”
That word sparks immediate reaction. Several Zmaj shift, wings flexing.
“Every Zmaj claims,” Syin says flatly.
Korr meets his gaze without flinching. “That is where we differ.”
A murmur breaks loose. Louder as tails lash. One Zmaj laughs under his breath, sharp and disbelieving. Virn raises his fist again. Silence snaps back into place.
“You protect humans,” Virn says slowly. “Yet you do not claim them. You stand beside this one”—his eyes flick to me—“but do not name her yours. You speak of alliances without dominance. You expect us to believe this is strength?”
Korr turns his head, just enough to look at me. He does not touch me. He does not step in front of me. He does not speak for me.
He simply says, “Ask her.”
The room stills. Every gaze swings to me. Human. Zmaj. Curious. Suspicious. Measuring. My heart beats once. Hard. Steady. This is the moment the room expects me to shrink. Or to cling. Or to defer.
I don’t.
“He does not claim me,” I say clearly. “Because I am not something to be claimed. He stands with me because I choose to stand with him. Every day. Even when it costs.”
A sharp breath escapes somewhere behind me. Virn’s eyes narrow, not with anger, but calculation.
“Interesting,” he says. “And costly choices tend to leave marks.”
“Yes,” I agree. “They do.”
For a moment, I think that might be it. The fulcrum. The point where the room tips one way or another. Then a voice rises from the human cluster near the reinforced wall. Low. Familiar.
“Talia?”
The sound of my name in that voice is like a hand closing around my spine. The room fades. The light fractures. Memory surges so fast it steals my breath. I don’t turn yet. I don’t have to. I know exactly who has just stepped forward.
33
TALIA
Istiffen involuntarily, inhaling sharply, and closing my eyes.
