“I don’t do pretty speeches,” he adds. “But I do decisions. And I decided you’re my partner. In this. In Gur. In whatever comes next.”
He hesitates, and for a second I see the rare thing beneath his authority: fear.
Not fear of death.
Fear of rejection.
It’s absurdly… human.
“So,” he finishes, rough, “if you’ll have me… then have me. Stay. Marry me. Or whatever word makes sense to you.”
I stare at him.
A thousand instincts try to get in the way—fear, caution, the old reflex to sayI’m fineand vanish into work-mode.
But the truth is simpler and louder than all of them.
I want him.
Not as an escape.
As a choice.
As a partner I’m willing to claim in daylight.
“Lonari,” I whisper, voice shaking, “you are so bad at this.”
His mouth tightens like he’s bracing for a hit. “Yeah.”
I step closer until I can feel his heat through the wind.
Then I say it without hesitation, because I’m done living in half-measures.
“Yes.”
Lonari blinks, like his brain needs a second to accept language.
“Yes?” he repeats.
I laugh again, tears in my eyes now because my body is apparently having a full emotional coup.
“Yes,” I say, firmer. “I’m not going anywhere. I choose you.”
His shoulders loosen in a way that makes him look younger. Less like a godfather and more like a man who just got handed oxygen.
He exhales, ragged. “Good.”
Then he adds, quieter, like it’s a confession: “Because I’m not letting you go.”
I hold out my hand.
Lonari’s fingers are steady as he slides the ring onto it. The metal is cool against my skin. It sits there like a promise with weight.
I stare at it for a second, stunned by how real it looks on me.
Then I look up at him and grin, because apparently I’m capable of joy and that’s terrifying.
“You realize this makes me even more of a target,” I say.
