And we need to actually rest, I added, feeling the exhaustion in my bones. We’re useless if we can’t think straight.
No one argued. The adrenaline that had carried us through the reunion and initial planning was fading, leaving behind bone-deep weariness.
We migrated toward sleep, heading upstairs to Keane’s bedroom. I’d been here often during the two weeks, falling asleep over research and waking tangled together when exhaustion won—familiar and safe.
I ended up in the middle with Keane behind me, Elio in front, and Cyrus beyond him, close enough to be included but maintaining the distance he needed.
The four of us had found positions in one bed—first time for this, whatever this was—that balanced proximity with the space we each needed. No one had to direct us. We settled into place like we’d always known where we belonged.
Scout curled up in his usual spot near the nightstand. Wisp settled at the foot of the bed. Echo found the windowsill, and Ember perched by the door, keeping watch even in rest.
The familiars understood before we did, proximity that wasn’t possession, unity that didn’t require defining every parameter.
I felt Keane’s arm around me—comfortable and established. Elio’s hand rested loosely against my hip—present and patient. And Cyrus’s heat radiated from the edge of the bed—there but not pressing.
This going to work? I asked quietly into the darkness. I didn’t expect an answer. I just needed to say it aloud.
Has to, Keane said. His voice carried certainty I didn’t feel.
We’ll make it work, Elio amended.
Cyrus was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, I’m here. For whatever that’s worth.
He didn’t offer declarations or promises. What he gave was presence. The choice to stay, even when he wasn’t sure how he fit.
It’s worth something, I said softly.
Outside, campus settled into uneasy sleep. The wellspring pulsed its steady rhythm beneath us, my necromancy attuned to its consciousness. Sentinel magic keeping watch while we rested.
Somewhere in the Alps, Raven was still corrupted, still being used as bait and weapon and intelligence asset. We hadn’t saved her. We hadn’t stopped him. We hadn’t even caught up.
But we were together. Tomorrow we’d plan better, act smarter, and build something rooted in strategy, not desperation.
Tonight, we just had to survive being this close without breaking.
The fragile peace held.
For now.
13
Elio
WE’D COME BACK FROM THE wellspring cleanse two hours ago, and Marigold’s shoulders still hadn’t dropped.
I set down the file I’d been pretending to read. The wellspring in Lyon had been straightforward—corruption embedded but not deep, the kind we’d learned to clear in under an hour—but straightforward didn’t mean easy. It meant controlled exhaustion instead of desperate exhaustion. Her body hadn’t gotten that memo.
Scout dozed on her shoulder, twitching occasionally. Keane was absorbed in his charts across from us, ink-stained fingers tracing portal vectors with that focused intensity he got when the work was the only thing keeping him upright.
Cyrus had gone straight from Lyon to the council representatives. His absence created a hole in the room’s energy but also space. Room to breathe without the constant heat of his presence.
The three of us had migrated to my sanctuary to decompress. Sunlight filtered through the glass ceiling overhead, casting soft hexagonal shadows across the Persian rug. Clouds drifted past lazily—beautiful, peaceful, utterly at odds with the exhaustion settling into our bones.
My chest felt tight watching Marigold hunch over those maps. Every line of her body screamed exhaustion she was ignoring.
I knew that posture and had perfected it myself, the art of appearing functional while slowly fracturing underneath.
We need a break, I announced, setting down my file with deliberate finality.
