She tilted her head to look at him, and something in his chest clenched at the raw emotion in her gaze. Trust. Gratitude. And beneath it, a fragile hope that made him want to tear down mountains on her behalf.
“You stayed.”
“I said I would.”
“I know.” She sat up slowly, pushing tangled hair from her face. “But people don’t always keep their promises. At least, that’s what my books say.”
“Your books are probably right about most people.” He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “But I’m not most people.”
She smiled at that—a small, wavering thing, but genuine. Then the smile faded as memory caught up with her.
“It wasn’t a dream, was it? The recordings. My blood. My father...”
“No. It wasn’t a dream.”
She nodded slowly, processing. He could see her mind working, that sharp intellect sorting through implications even as her heart struggled with the emotional weight.
“I have questions,” she said.
“I know.”
“A lot of questions.”
“I know that too.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then: “Will you answer them? Honestly?”
“Yes.”
“Even the hard ones?”
He met her gaze steadily. “Especially those.”
They moved to the kitchen by unspoken agreement. Pip emerged from wherever he’d been hiding and immediately claimed his usual spot on Liora’s shoulder, chittering reproachfully at both of them.
“He’s upset that I slept all afternoon,” she translated. “He worries.”
“He’s not the only one.”
She shot him a look but didn’t pursue the comment. Instead, she began preparing tea with the automatic efficiency of long habit—filling the kettle, measuring leaves, setting out cups.
He watched her work, cataloging the small details he’d come to recognize over the past few days. The way she hummedunder her breath when concentrating. The efficiency of her movements, honed by years of conducting experiments in her greenhouse. The occasional pause to scratch Pip behind his ears, acknowledging the creature’s presence without interrupting her task.
She was extraordinary. He’d known it from the first moment he’d seen her peering down at him from the balcony, but it struck him fresh every time he watched her navigate her small world with such grace.
“You’re staring,” she said without turning around.
“Yes.”
“Does that mean something? In Vultor culture?”
“It means I find you worth looking at.”
She turned then, cheeks flushed. “Oh.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No.” The flush deepened. “No, it’s... I’m not used to being looked at. By anyone except Pip. And Ari, I suppose, though cameras aren’t really the same thing.”
