I matched his breath without thinking, our hands still aligned.
“And what does it mean?” I asked.
“It means we leave the moment together,” he said. “Not one rising first. Not one stepping away.” His thumb brushed my pulse. “It means I remain with you.”
Warmth settled deep, quiet, and certain.
I pressed my palm into his. “I remain with you.”
His eyes closed briefly, something fierce and gentle passing through them.
We stayed like that—breath matched, hands joined—until the world felt steady again.
Not claimed. Not owned. Chosen. Perhaps even loved.
Chapter Fifteen
After the Council Meeting
Lina
I didn’t know how long the council meeting lasted.
The waiting stretched until it felt like time had stalled completely. When the door finally slid open and Rygnar stepped inside, I straightened, searching his face for answers.
“Did it go as badly as I imagined?”
“They argued.” He gave a slight shrug. “It’s how they measure caution.”
“That sounds like humans.”
“Most of the people here used to fight in the same war,” he said. “We learned it from you.”
I leaned against the edge of the bench. “What did they decide?”
“That we hold our ground. Scouts went out before dawn to track the valley approaches. If the raiders are real, we’ll know before noon.”
“And if they find us?”
“Then we move deeper.” His tone remained steady. “We’ve prepared for this since the first hall was carved.”
He lifted the sealed box. “This will be buried in the heat shafts. Nothing it held will speak again.”
“Good.” I hesitated. “Rygnar, I—”
He shook his head. “No apologies. We chose to live on a broken world. Danger is part of it.”
His certainty steadied me more than I expected.
“You always talk like the mountain listens,” I said.
“Maybe it does,” he replied. “We carved our lives into its bones. It owes us that much.”
He turned back to his tools, the conversation closing there. I should have gone—to the kitchens, gardens, anywhere that felt like routine—but I didn’t move.
He glanced up, catching me watching him.
Something passed between us. Quiet. Unspoken.
