"I don't want to talk about it."
He studied her profile. The set of her jaw. The way she gripped the armrests like they were the only solid things in the room.
She wasn't ready. Pushing now would only drive her deeper into silence.
"All right." He leaned against the wall, creating distance even when everything in him pulled toward closing it. "The investigation didn't go as planned."
She took the safer topic like a lifeline. "No. She revealed nothing useful."
"While extracting information we hadn't intended to share." He kept his voice even. "Interrogation disguised as cooperation."
"Do you think she's the saboteur?"
"I think she's hiding something. Whether it's guilt or knowledgeof who's responsible remains to be seen." He gave her room. "We'll need to investigate the other courts before drawing conclusions."
Brynn nodded. Her fingers stayed white-knuckled on the armrests. The flush in her cheeks had deepened.
"You need rest," he said, gentling his voice in a way he hadn't done for anyone in longer than he could remember.
"I need—" She stopped herself, throat working. "Yes. Rest."
Not what she'd been about to say. His shadows followed her movement as she stood, drawn by an instinct he couldn't suppress.
"I'll watch the chamber. Sleep while you can."
She moved toward the sleeping alcove, each step slower than the last. He watched her longer than he should have.
Then she paused halfway.
Her shoulders rose and fell with a breath that seemed to cost her something. One hand lifted toward the curtain, then dropped. She turned just enough for him to see the curve of her throat, the stubborn line of her jaw.
If she would just turn around. Just look at him. Just say whatever was eating her alive.
The space between them felt like it had its own gravity. Ten feet of stone floor. She was right there.
Her fingers curled into a fist at her side.
Please.
She continued forward without looking back, disappearing behind the silk barrier, and his chest gave way.
He stood motionless, staring at the curtain that now separated them. Thin silk. He could see the shadow of her moving behind it. The suggestion of her form as she crossed to the bed.
He took up a position where he could monitor both the entrance and the alcove. Close enough to protect. Far enough to honor the distance she'd demanded.
His shadows spread through the room, alert for disturbance. Some settled around the outer chamber, dutiful and focused. Others drifted toward the silk curtain, ignoring his commands, straining toward her.
He reined them back. They crept forward again.
From the alcove, the rustle of fabric. The creak of the bed frame as she turned over. She was trying to get comfortable. He needed to stop listening.
Another exhale. This one shakier.
His hands curled into fists against his thighs.
She was lying there awake. Alone with whatever doubts Seraphina had planted. And he couldn't reach her. Not because of distance. Because she'd drawn a line, and he would not cross it.
His shadows pooled at the threshold. Not touching the curtain. Pressing close to the boundary she'd drawn but not breaching it. One tendril curled under the edge. Just barely. Just enough to feel the air on the other side, warmer with her presence.
