“This is assault.”
Rurik releases me, hands raised in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. No touching. But you’re still sitting with us. I have questions.”
“You always have questions,” Selene says, sliding into her seat beside Drayke. “Most of them inappropriate.”
“The inappropriate ones are the most interesting.”
I find myself seated between Aisling and Selene—the Fire-Bringers flanking me, whether for protection or solidarity, I can’t tell. Across the table, the dragons arrange themselves with the ease of long familiarity. Drayke at the head, formal even in relaxation. Rurik sprawling in his chair, vibrating with barely contained energy. And at the far end, silent and watchful...
Auren.
He hasn’t spoken to me directly. Hasn’t acknowledged my presence beyond a brief nod when I entered. But I feel his attention anyway—cool, assessing, cataloging everything I do and filing it away for future analysis.
“Don’t mind Auren,” Selene murmurs, following my gaze. “He watches everyone like that. It’s not personal.”
“It feels personal.”
“That’s because you’re new. He’s still deciding what category to put you in.”
“What categories are there?”
“Threat. Asset. Neutral party. Waste of time.” Selene ticks them off on her fingers. “I was ‘threat’ for about a week before I got upgraded to ‘asset.’ Aisling went straight to ‘asset’ because she impressed him with her medical knowledge.”
“And if he decides I’m a threat?”
“Then he’ll watch you more closely until he changes his mind.” Selene shrugs. “Auren doesn’t act on suspicion. He gathers data. It’s simultaneously his greatest strength and his most annoying quality.”
The meal passes in a blur of conversation I only half-follow. Rurik dominates most of it, telling increasingly improbable stories about past adventures that make Aisling roll her eyes and Drayke interject with corrections. Selene adds commentary, her wit sharp enough to draw blood when Rurik gets too outrageous.
And through it all, I watch.
I watch Drayke track Selene’s movements even when he’s engaged in conversation elsewhere. The way his attention snaps to her when she speaks. The way she leans into his side without seeming to think about it, her body curving toward his as naturally as flowers toward sunlight.
I watch Rurik reach for Aisling’s hand under the table. The way she lets him hold it even while she’s rolling her eyes at his latest exaggeration. The way his whole demeanor shifts when she speaks—from chaos to focused attention, every word she says clearly the most important thing in the world.
This isn’t ownership. This isn’t dragons using Fire-Bringers as tools or power sources or property.
This is something else entirely. Something I don’t have a name for. Something that makes my chest ache with an emotion I can’t identify.
Zyphon isn’t at dinner.
I notice his absence the way I notice gaps in defensive lines—unconsciously, automatically, a survival instinct I can’t seem to turn off. His chair remains empty throughout the meal, and no one mentions him. No one explains.
I don’t ask. Asking would mean admitting I noticed. Admitting I noticed would mean acknowledging that some part of me was looking for him.
But when Selene walks me back to my quarters afterward, I can’t help myself.
“Where was he? Zyphon.”
“He eats alone most nights.” Selene’s voice is carefully neutral. “Has for as long as I’ve been here. The others say it’s been that way for centuries—ever since he got the... since whatever happened to him happened.”
“The shadows.”
“Yes.” She pauses. “They make him uncomfortable in crowds. Too much stimulation, too many people—the darkness responds to it. Gets harder to control. He finds it easier to stay apart.”
I think about the ramparts yesterday. How he’d stood apart even there, positioned at the edge where shadows pooled thickest. How he’d seemed more comfortable in the darkness than in the fading light.
We reach my door. Selene hesitates.
