We are going to find her, I said, my voice rougher than I’d intended. My hands had reached her lower back now, kneading gently. We’re going to do it right this time—with planning not just impulse.
If we have time, she murmured.
Keane’s hand stilled in her hair before resuming its motion. We do. Not much. But enough.
Let go, I said, surprising myself with how much I meant it. Just for now. Let us hold it for a bit.
My hands continued their slow, thorough work—down the line of her spine, over muscles I didn’t know could hold this much stress. Keane’s fingers traced light patterns across her scalp.
Piece by piece, I felt her start to unlock.
Time blurred. The only sounds were her breathing, the soft rustle of fabric, the distant hum of campus beyond my sanctuary’s wards.
Better? I asked eventually, my hands settling warm and still on her lower back.
Yeah, she admitted, rolling over to look up at both of us. Much better.
From this angle, I could see her clearly. Flushed. Relaxed. Her dark brown eyes holding mine with something that made my pulse spike.
Keane’s deep blue eyes were steady and intent.
Something in my chest loosened and then tightened again, differently.
Heat. Want. Real want, not performed want. The distinction was getting harder to maintain.
Thank you, Marigold said, her voice lower than before.
Keane’s hand slid up, cupping her jaw. His thumb brushed her cheek with deliberate slowness. Don’t thank us. We want to be here. We want you.
My breath caught before I could control it. Echo’s scales shifted to deep violet on the desk. Overwhelmed. She only showed that color when I was genuinely feeling something, not performing it.
Marigold wouldn’t know what that meant, but I did.
We have time, I said quietly, letting my voice roughen. Not calculated this time. Just… true. Before the world comes crashing back in.
She looked between us. The way Keane’s touch had gone still, waiting. The way I was watching her like I was letting her decide what happened next.
Except I wasn’t sure whether I was letting her decide or if I was just performing the illusion of her control while actually orchestrating…
No.
Stop.
I was doing it again—analyzing, calculating, turning genuine desire into strategic deployment.
What kind of time? she asked.
My mouth curved before I could think about whether it should. The kind we don’t rush.
No expectations, Keane added, his thumb brushing her lower lip. Just… us.
She reached for Keane first, pulling him down to her. Their mouths met in a kiss that was unhurried and certain—familiar in the way that mattered.
I watched. Couldn’t help watching.
Keane’s hand slid into her hair, steadying her. She softened into him, trusting him to hold her.
I’d felt those hands before—in sparring, in trust exercises, once when I’d nearly fallen through a poorly calculated portal and he’d caught me without question.
