But here—right now—there was just this.
The pull. The tension. The unmistakable sense that the balance between us was shifting. I was surprised to find that I didn't hate the idea of being the one who tipped it.
I hadn't slept.Sleep implied rest. Stillness. Distance from thought. I had none of those. Her words had threaded themselves through my mind like a slow toxin, quiet, persistent, impossible to purge. The way she'd looked at me when she challenged me. The way shedidn'tback down. The cadence of her voice when she dissected the Abyss like it was an equation that had offended her personally.
And worse—her scent.
Human, yes, but altered now by proximity to me. To us. Warm. Clean. Faintly electric, like ionized air before a storm. It clung to my memory far more intimately than her image, and my body responded to it whether I willed it or not.
Aelyth.
I still disliked the word.
But… I was beginning to entertain the thought. And I suppose I could have done worse.
The ship's kitchen—if one could call it that—was quiet when I entered. Light filtered in on a spectrum calibrated to my preferences, though it shifted subtly the moment she stepped inside behind me. The environment always adjusted for her. I pretended not to notice.
She went straight for the counter unit and summoned something I recognized only because she had insisted on it before and had sighed when she drank it, as if it were a god's gift. Coffee.
The scent was sharp, bitter, grounding. She moved with an ease that hadn't been there yesterday, barefoot, hair loose, wearing clothes that werehersnow. I felt her gaze on me without looking.
Something had changed in the way she looked at me. Not with fear or defiance. It was almost… warm. I wondered what had brought that change in her. Without conscious decision, I reached toward her mind, lightly, out of habit more than intent.
And hit a wall. Not resistance. A barricade. Clean. Adaptive. Intentional. Her lips curved without her turning around. "Nice try, spymaster."
I stiffened.
"Shadow-monger," she added brightly. "Void lurker. Whatever ominous title you're feeling today."
I stared at her profile. "How are you doing that?"
She finally turned, blue eyes alight with triumph. "Doing what?"
Blocking me. That should not have been possible. Before I could probe again—more carefully this time—I felt it. A deep probing pressure. Inside my own mind. Not invasive. Curious. Exploratory.
Oh, Fryg.
She gasped at the same moment I did, eyes widening. "Oh shit."
I moved instantly, but she was already there—inside—skimming the surface of my thoughts with the uncoordinated shock of someone who had just discovered they could breathe underwater.
"You are…really screwed up," she blurted, awe and something else—wonder? horror?—twisting her voice. Then her color drained. "Holy shit. Am I actually in your head?"
"Yes," I snapped. "And you need to get out."
With a firm shove of will, I expelled her presence. She toppled back half a step, blinking as if emerging from a dream. We stared at each other in stunned silence.
And then she grinned, slow, mischievous, victorious.
That's when I felt it: her desire, raw and unfiltered, shooting through me like a star flare. My own need snapped into focus, answering her signal with an urgency I hadn't thought possible.
Without thought, I closed the gap between us in two long strides. My hands found her face, my fingers ghosted over her skin that was still warm from the coffee. She didn't pull away; instead, her breath caught, and her eyes fluttered shut for a moment.
She rose onto her toes, tipped forward, and our lips met. It was hot, fierce, and unrelenting, yet tempered by the slow-building hunger in both our bodies. Her mouth parted against mine, neither yielding nor challenging, a balance of power and surrender that threatened to shatter every barrier I'd ever known. When our tongues brushed, it was like an explosion inside me: heat flared, blood thundered, thought fractured into starlight. I pressed her back against the counter, one hand braced at her hip, the other threading through her loose hair as though I'd always known the curve of her neck under my palm.
For that breath of time—just one heartbeat—there was no Abyss. No Nythor. No prophecy or war or burden weighing on my chest. There was only her, and the terrible, beautiful certainty that with her by my side, I would never turn back.
Suddenly, the ship screamed. Not an alarm. Not a warning chime.
