Brynn.
His shoulders dropped. The tension he'd been carrying since leaving her asleep released in a slow exhale.
She was awake. Coming to him instead of staying safely in his bed, where nothing could touch her.
The door opened quietly. She stepped inside, pausing just past the threshold. Taking in her surroundings before committing. A habit he recognized because he did the same thing. Survey, calculate, and decide on the safest path forward.
Her gaze swept the room before landing on him—standing alone at his desk in the pale light, one hand braced on the surface, darkness pooling at his feet.
Her expression softened. That shift from wariness to something gentler surprised him every time, like he was worth approaching instead of avoiding.
Like he was someone to seek out instead of escape.
She crossed to him in silence. There was a noticeable stiffness in her movement, and he caught the wince she tried to hide when her weight shifted.
From him. From what they'd done before dawn.
From being spread across his bed while he'd taken her apart until she'd screamed his name so loud the entire palace must have heard.
His shadows stirred in response to the surge of heat. The Reaper recognizing what was his. The urge to take her against this desk rose immediately. Hear those breathless sounds again. Feel her clench around him while his name fell from her lips.
He clenched his jaw and pulled his attention back to the construct.
The realms were hours from war. This was not the place. Not the time.
Even if everything in him screamed otherwise.
She didn't stop until she was beside him. Her shoulder nearly brushing his arm. Close enough for her scent to reach him, mingled with the faint traces of last night. His shadows reached for her instantly.
Wearing one of his shirts. Soft black fabric that hung loose on her, falling to mid-thigh and leaving her legs bare. Her hair tangled from sleep and his hands. Circles shadowed beneath her lashes. Her wrapped wrists stood out against the dark fabric, white bindings a reminder of what Caelum had done.
And there, just visible above the shirt's collar, the bite mark he'd left on her shoulder. Already purpling.
She looked like she'd been tortured, taken, and had barely slept.
Yet ready for war regardless. Spine straight. Chin up. Gaze sharp through the fatigue.
Her hand reached out, fingertips hovering over the projection where Caelum's fortress glowed. The ward-architecture rippled at her proximity, responding to her bloodline even without direct contact, light pulsing brighter where her fingers passed.
Even half-dead, her power called to the wards.
"You should be sleeping," he said, watching how the wards responded to her. How even projection magic knew what she was.
"So should you." Her voice was rough with sleep. Deeper than usual, scratchy in a way that reminded him exactly how she'd sounded when he'd made her beg. When she'd gasped his name while he'd had her so thoroughly they couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
"How long have you been working?"
"An hour. Maybe two." He'd lost track after the third report update and the fifth time he'd traced these vectors looking for flaws. "Scout updates came in. The timeline's compressed. We move today instead of tomorrow."
A tremor shuddered through the stone. Noticeable enough that the magical projection flickered briefly before stabilizing. Dust rained from the ceiling. A crack split across the far wall with a sound like breaking bone.
The ward network was protesting the instability. Crying out against the damage Caelum had done to its foundation.
Her attention snapped to him, alarm clear in her expression.
"The wards are deteriorating," he said quietly. "We're running out of time."
She studied the construct in silence, tracking the soul-flow patterns. The way power moved through the network, where it pooled and strengthened, where it bled away through sabotage. The failure points spreading like an infection. The vectors he'd been analyzing.
