Malrik’s expression has gone eerily still, his silver eyes fixed on the darkness beyond our camp. “We’re not alone,” he murmurs.
For a long moment, no one speaks. Then Finn stretches his arms overhead, feigning nonchalance. “Well, whatever it is, let’s hope it has bad vision, ‘cause I’m calling it a night.”
Torric huffs but rises to his feet, shaking out his shoulders like a predator shedding tension. “We set watches?”
“Obviously,” Malrik replies, still scanning the distance. “I’ll take first.”
None of us actually sleeps, though we pretend to. We arrange ourselves in shifts, weapons within reach, eyes only half-closed. Even Torric, who could normally sleep through a battle, keeps twitching at every sound. My shadows maintain a constant perimeter, Bob directing them with silent efficiency.
I lie down, wings curled tight against my back, but I’m hyperaware of every shift in the darkness. The weight of this place, of the watching presence, makes true rest impossible. We’re all just waiting, coiled and ready.
Aspen catches my eye from across the fire. His expression says what we’re all thinking: whatever’s out there isn’t going to wait forever.
I get up after an hour of this farce, moving to stand beside Malrik. He doesn’t seem surprised.
“You should sleep,” he murmurs, not looking at me.
“I can’t.”
He glances down then, his gaze flickering with something unreadable. “I didn’t think you would.”
We stand there for a while, side by side, watching the writhing sky above us. The silence between us isn’t uncomfortable, it’s charged.
“You knew about berserkers,” I say finally. “What else do you know about this place?”
Malrik exhales, rubbing a hand down his face. “More than I’d like.”
“Tell me.”
His lips twitch, but there’s no humor in it. “The thing about Absentia is… it doesn’t just corrupt. It adapts. It remembers. And if it knows you don’t belong, it makes you belong.”
I shiver. “That’s what this ache is, isn’t it?” I press a hand to my chest. “Like it’s trying to change us.”
Malrik watches me, his gaze dipping briefly to where my fingers press against my skin. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reaches out and rests his palm over my hand.
The moment he touches me, the ache shifts. It’s still there, but different, like my magic is stretching toward him, trying to align itself with his.
I inhale sharply. His fingers are warm against mine. His presence steadies me, like an anchor against whatever’s happening in this realm.
“Kaia,” he murmurs, voice rougher than before.
When I look up at him, I see it—the hesitation, the war between logic and something deeper. Something undeniable.
I don’t think. I don’t second-guess. I just rise onto my toes, closing the distance between us.
He meets me halfway.
The kiss is slow, not hesitant, just careful. Like he’s testing the feel of me in this realm, the shape of this moment. His fingers tighten over mine, then shift, trailing up my arm as he cups my face.
I press closer. His breath hitches. Something in his magic, something deep and ancient, pulls at mine, like a thread being drawn between us.
Then the air around us shudders.
The moment breaks.
Malrik pulls back first, his expression unreadable. But I can feel it, the change in the air, the watching presence pressing closer.
I turn my head, pulse thundering. The fire is still burning, but it feels smaller. The silence around us isn’t normal anymore. It’s waiting.
