“Yes.”
“We’re in the middle of a campaign against forces that want to unmake existence itself. We’re preparing for precision strikes against entrenched cult positions. We don’t have time for?—”
“For what?”
I stop. The question is simple, but answering it would require acknowledging what I’ve refused to name since Niren Hollow. The pull between us. The way my pulse quickens whenhe’s close. The want that has nothing to do with survival and everything to do with him.
“I don’t know.”
“Neither do I.” He takes a step closer—not aggressive, not demanding, but present. “Since meeting you, my clarity has been complicated.”
“That’s not my fault.”
“I didn’t say it was fault. I said it was a complication.” His hand rises, hovers near my face without touching. The restraint visible in his control. “You asked why you’re here. Why your voice matters in planning sessions.”
“You said my perspective has value.”
“Your perspective does have value. But that isn’t why I ensured you were heard.” His fingers brush my jaw—light, barely there, gone before I can lean into it. “You’re heard because the alternative is unacceptable to me. You matter because I’ve decided you matter. These decisions aren’t rational. They don’t serve tactical objectives. They simply are.”
My breath catches. It’s not a declaration, but it’s closer to honesty than I expected. Closer than either of us should allow.
“Arax—”
“The strikes launch tomorrow.” He withdraws, putting distance between us that feels like loss.
The shift is abrupt—soldier mode engaged, careful separation restored. But his eyes hold mine a beat too long, and I see the want there. The same want I feel, suppressed but not eliminated, waiting for a moment when suppression is no longer possible.
“Tomorrow,” I agree.
He nods once and turns toward the camp’s interior, leaving me at the observation point with the Reach spreading before me and my thoughts in chaos.
You matter because I’ve decided you matter.
Not love. Not confession. Not any of the words that humans use to describe these feelings.
But close.
Closer than I’m prepared to handle.
I stay at the perimeter until full dark falls, watching the ash migrate in patterns that shift faster than our maps can track.
And through it all, Arax will be there. Watching. Protecting.
The thought should unsettle me.
It does unsettle me.
But it also produces a sensation I’m learning to recognize—anticipation edged with desire, need tempered by uncertainty. The echo of what surged through me when his fingers brushed my jaw.
Because I’ve decided you matter.
I turn from the Reach and walk back to the tent we share. Arax is already there—I sense him even before I see him, that awareness of where he is that has become as natural as breathing.
