“Because they’re hybrids?” I ask.
He shakes his head once.
“Because they are unafraid.”
Below, one of the Zmaj extends a hand toward Illadon, palm up. A warrior’s gesture of exchange. Illadon looks at it, then placeshis own hand against it without hesitation. Their grips lock, forearms tensing briefly, a silent recognition passing between them.
Rverre smiles faintly and turns toward a cluster of human children who have edged closer, curiosity outweighing caution. She kneels without being asked, speaking softly, wings catching the firelight like polished glass.
“They’ll be out late,” I murmur.
Korr’s mouth curves, barely.
“They have earned it.”
I glance at him. “You’re not worried?”
“I am,” he says easily. “But not about this.”
Below, one of the older Zmaj gestures toward a stairwell and several of the youths lead Illadon and Rverre upward, eager to show them something. A vantage point, perhaps. A reinforced beam. A place claimed and rebuilt.
Illadon glances up at me before he disappears from view, not for permission, for acknowledgment. I lift my chin and he grins then vanishes into shadow and light. The chamber feels larger without them, but not emptier.
“They trust us,” I say.
Korr turns his head slightly, studying me instead of the room now.
“Yes.”
“That’s new,” I admit.
“For them,” he says. “Or for you?”
I don’t answer right away.
Below, a human caregiver hands a vial of epis to another Zmaj who handles it carefully, reverently, as if it were something alive. He carries it toward a woman seated against a column. The exchange is deliberate. Gentle.
No one pulls her back into the shade. No one recoils from the light. The city is changing, not in declaration, but in posture. I rest my hand over Korr’s where it has come to rest at my waist..
“They won’t come looking for us tonight,” I say softly.
His thumb shifts, just once, against my side.
“No,” he agrees. “They are exactly where they should be.”
And for the first time since I crashed onto this planet, I feel different. Not the absence of fear but space. Space to step away. Space to breathe. Space to choose something that belongs only to us.
“Come with me,” I whisper, stepping out of his grasp, letting my hand slide into his and pulling him along after me.
I lead us to the upper floors which are quieter.
Korr follows until we reach the space that we were given to rest. The fractured ceiling above lets in a spill of late sun, turning the dust in the air into drifting gold. It isn’t romantic, but it is practical, and it’s ours.
For the first time, we are not needed. The realization lands softly between us.
I step towards the two rolled sleeping pads against the far wall then turn toward him.
He watches me the way he does when he is trying to not move too quickly. Carefully assessing so as not to overwhelm or assume.
