He should pull it back.
He didn't.
Minutes stretched. The fortress quieted around them. Guard shifts changing, conversations fading, the desert settling into evening stillness. Through that single shadow-tendril, he felt the moment her breathing changed.
The irregular pattern smoothing out. Exhaustion finally claiming what willingness couldn't provide.
She was asleep.
His shadows slid under the curtain without permission, pooling around the bed. Not touching her. He had that much control left. But close. Close enough to feel her warmth. To stand guard over her sleep even when she wouldn't let him guard anything else.
He didn't pull them back.
Behind silk curtains, she slept. Trusting him with her safety even when she wouldn't trust him with her thoughts. She could have demanded separate chambers. Insisted on walls instead of curtains, guards instead of him.
She still believed he wouldn't hurt her. She just didn't believe anything else right now.
The shadows lengthened across the floor as evening claimed the fortress. He remained motionless. He did not go to her. It was the hardest thing he'd done in a very long time.
XXXVIII.
DANTE
The eternal twilight wrapped around Dante like a familiar cloak, the cool air a relief after the punishing heat of Seraphina's domain.
He found no comfort in their return.
Brynn hadn't spoken since waking. She'd emerged from the sleeping alcove with shadows under her eyes and a blankness to her expression, accepted the travel rations he'd procured without comment, and followed him to the transport circle like a prisoner being escorted.
And now she was further away than ever.
The journey had passed in silence that felt like suffocation. Every attempt at conversation met with monosyllables. Every glance he stole showed him the same closed expression, the same distance.
Now she stood apart from him in the circle's aftermath, posture rigid, eyes focused somewhere over his shoulder rather than meeting his gaze. The wall she'd constructed had been reinforced by hours of whatever thoughts had been churning behind that mask.
"We should debrief," he said. Testing. Hoping for any crack in the distance between them.
"Fine."
One word. Flat. Final.
His shadows stirred restlessly around his boots, straining toward her despite his efforts to keep them contained. They remembered last night's closeness—her warmth, her scent, the steady rhythm of her breathing as she slept. They wanted it back.
He understood the feeling entirely too well.
She walked toward the main palace without waiting for him, her stride purposeful but stiff. The Forsaken Court's chill raised goosebumps on her bare arms. His hands flexed with the urge to pull her against him.
As if he could. As if touch was something he was allowed.
He matched her pace easily, his longer stride requiring no effort. "The other courts will need to be investigated. Thessa's domain, then Caelum's. Vex's, eventually."
"I assumed."
His jaw tightened.
This was the woman who'd spent their journey to the Violent Court asking questions about Death Lord politics, who'd insisted on understanding every nuance of their investigation strategy. Who'd leaned close to study maps with him, close enough that her scent had wrapped around his senses and made concentration nearly impossible.
Now she walked beside him like a stranger fulfilling an obligation.
