“Then we move now,” he says.
The others gather, tightening formation. I push to my feet and offer Kael a hand. He takes it, not because he needs it, but because he chooses to.
When he stands, he doesn’t lean into me right away. He steadies. Finds his balance. Then shifts closer. As we fall into motion with the group, I feel it again. That thread between us growing stronger and more certain.
Something real. Something chosen.
Whatever waits for us ahead, we’re going to face it together.
31
LEENA
We don’t stop, but the formation loosens as the terrain shifts. The ridge breaks into narrow cuts of stone and shadow. The others spread out naturally, covering angles, adjusting without needing to be told.
We move through a path in the rock, the group stretching as we navigate the uneven terrain. We’re not split, but not tight either. The second sun is already below the horizon, and the primary is almost gone too.
Behind us, I hear Drazan’s voice, low, giving instructions to the others. He orders them to make camp. I look back and see he’s not watching us, but I know he knows exactly where we are.
Kael’s arm slips from my shoulders. I glance at him.
“You okay?”
“Yes,” he says, still sounding rough.
He takes a few steps ahead, testing his balance. Watching his footing. Reclaiming something that was taken from him. Then he slows and waits for me. He leads us toward the lower ridge,toward the break in the stone where the wind cuts the sound, and the heat settles.
It’s not far, just enough for some privacy. Drazan doesn’t stop us. He sees it happening. Sees Kael shift toward me, and he lets it go. No command. No correction. Just a single look, then he turns away and gives us space.
The desert dips, a shallow cut between ridges where the wind has carved the stone into something like shelter. The sounds of the others fade. Kael slows; then he stops.
“You okay?”
His chest rises and falls more slowly.
“Yes.”
His gaze shifts over me, not scanning the horizon, not checking for threats. Just checking me.
“You are still bleeding.”
I glance down at my hand. The torn skin has dried into stiff lines with sand clinging to it.
“I’ve had worse,” I say.
“You said that before.”
“And it was true then too.”
He doesn’t smile, but something in his expression shifts. A flicker of something warmer than the controlled stillness he usually holds. He steps closer.
Close enough that I feel the coolness he radiates. The steady presence that’s become familiar. Grounding in a way I didn’t expect when this all started.
He lifts his hand, pauses, as if he’s giving me the chance to pull away.
I don’t.
His fingers close gently around my wrist, turning my hand just enough to see the damage. Careful and focused. The same way I’ve been with him.
