Mac didn’t pull away.
The kiss deepened without urgency, carrying the same restrained intensity Mac brought to everything that mattered. Melvin’s hand rose and closed briefly against Mac’s chest, fingers tightening in the fabric of his uniform as if to hold the moment in place. Beneath his palm he felt the steady rhythm of Mac’s heartbeat. When Melvin opened his eyes, Mac’s were open too.
For a fraction of a second they weren’t entirely human. The color shifted first, hazel giving way to molten gold that caught the fluorescent light and held it. Alpha gold.
It lasted no more than a heartbeat. Control closed back over it.
Neither of them spoke about it.
Mac drew back slowly, as if separation required the same discipline as the kiss itself. His forehead rested briefly against Melvin’s. “We’ll sort the rest when I get there.”
Melvin nodded. “I know.”
By the time Mac reached the door, his posture had settled into something composed and professional again. He opened it. Brighter light spilled in around him.
Melvin followed a moment later.
The pressure in the air had deepened while they were gone. The Circle’s dark lines had sunk further into the tile, the pattern now looking less drawn than embedded. The metallic taste had sharpened.
Reynolds stood within the boundary, shoulders squared despite the uncertainty in his eyes. The Stewards remained patient and unmoving, as if time inside the room had continued without interruption.
Mac resumed his place near the bed, positioned like a guardrail between Reynolds and the door. Reynolds’ folded uniform and boots rested on the chair beside him. Mac picked them up and set them within reach.
“You’ll want these.”
Melvin stepped forward into the Circle. When he glanced back once, Mac was watching him with steady focus, as if committing the moment to memory rather than reacting to it.
The High Steward’s voice became quieter, and the room’s edges began to feel less certain. Like the walls were suggestions. Like the floor might not always be floor.
Reynolds’ breathing hitched. Hugging his uniform and boots against his chest, he started to shake harder.
Melvin placed his hand on Reynolds’ shoulder, anchoring. “Stay with me,” he said. “One breath at a time.”
Reynolds nodded, jaw clenched.
Mac remained rigid and controlled, but the energy in him was a taut wire. The look that came when he was forced to watch rather than act.
The High Steward’s gaze swept them once more. “This will be discreet,” he said.
Mac’s voice came low and dangerous. “Discreet doesn’t mean humane.”
The High Steward’s expression didn’t change. “Humane is irrelevant,” he said. “Order is the point.”
And then the Veil opened.
Melvin didn’t see it like a doorway. He felt it like a change in gravity. The circle on the floor darkened into depth, like looking down into water at night. The air pulled inward, not violently, but insistently, as if the room itself inhaled.
Reynolds made a sound, half gasp, half prayer.
Melvin leaned close to his ear. “Now,” he said. “Move with me.”
Reynolds’ eyes darted once to Mac, desperate.
Mac stepped close enough that his hand hovered over Reynolds’ forearm, not touching, but near enough Reynolds could feel the heat of him. “You hold,” Mac said. “You keep your name.”
Reynolds nodded, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes in spite of his attempt to remain soldier.
Melvin’s heart pounded. Not fear. But resolve. He guided Reynolds toward the edge of the circle, feeling the pull like a current. The tile beneath his boots felt suddenly too smooth, as if the world was losing friction.
