Not comfortable. Not entirely present. But here. In the same room as me. Without running.
Progress.
I slid into an empty seat between Trux and an unclaimed chair, careful not to disrupt whatever delicate balance had been struck. Trux nodded a greeting but didn't break away from his conversation with Rhiot. The two of them bent over a tablet, shoulder to shoulder, something almost easy in their posture. No strain. No careful distance. Just two people focused on the same task, their bodies aligned without thought.
"Do you recognize this sigil?" Rhiot was asking, pointing to something on the screen. "It looks familiar, but I can't place it."
Trux leaned in closer, squinting. "Protection ward, but specific to liminal spaces. Thresholds, mostly. You'd put it above doorways to prevent anything crossing with ill intent."
"Right!" Rhiot smacked the table with his palm. "The Grenada mission. That abandoned church where all the goats kept disappearing."
"The one where you nearly got yourself possessed by trying to pet the shadow dog?"
"In my defense, it looked very soft."
"It had three rows of teeth and was eating the altar."
Rhiot waved dismissively. "Details."
Their bickering lacked the edge it usually carried. No old wounds reopened for fresh bleeding. Just the familiar back-and-forth of people who knew each other well enough to tease without drawing blood.
I ate slowly, the stew warming me from the inside out. Kearan had somehow known exactly how I liked it… heavy on the vegetables, with plenty of garlic and just enough spice to leave a pleasant warmth on the tongue. The thought made something twist in my chest, tight and sweet and painful all at once.
The dagger hung heavy in my jacket pocket. Eloise's dagger. My mother's legacy passed down through a bloodline I hadn't known existed until recently. The runes whispered at the edges of my consciousness, meanings unfolding with frustrating slowness. Not enough. Never enough to piece together the full message she'd left for me.
But something. A start.
"You're thinking so loudly I can hear you from across the room."
I looked up to find Grayson watching me, his gray eyes warm with amusement. He stood in the space between the kitchen and dining area, one shoulder propped against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest. His mind brushed mine gently… not invasive, just present. A hello rather than an interrogation.
You look lost, his voice murmured in my head. Come back to us.
I pushed my plate away and stood, crossing to where he waited. He straightened as I approached, something softening in his expression.
We did it, he said, the words filling my mind like warm honey. Look at them.
I followed his gaze back to the table. To Seph and Ryker, inhabiting the same space without obvious discomfort. Trux and Rhiot, heads bent together over shared work. To the empty space where Kearan had been sitting, his plate abandoned but not empty, evidence he'd actually eaten with the team instead of disappearing to eat alone as he sometimes did.
We did, I agreed, letting him feel the complicated tangle of emotions the scene evoked. A fragile, tentative hope.
Grayson's hand found mine, fingers intertwining with practiced ease. "Come on," he said aloud. "I want to show you something."
He led me from the common area, down the short hallway to the small room that had become our unofficial planning space. Unlike the sterile Division conference rooms, this one felt lived in and personal. Rhiot's notes covered one wall, his surprisingly elegant handwriting filling the spaces between Seph's more chaotic diagrams. A worn couch occupied one corner, piled with blankets and pillows. Seemed my mates wanted to make all the areas for us more comfortable, following after Kearan after he'd made one of the main operations rooms less military sterile for me.
Grayson closed the door behind us, the click of the latch sealing us into our own private bubble. I sank onto the couch, suddenly aware of how tired I was. Not the bone-deep exhaustion of magic drained too quickly, but the softer fatigue of constant vigilance finally eased.
I pulled the dagger from my pocket, turning it over in my hands. The runes caught the soft lamplight, gleaming like they held their own inner fire. My fingers traced the largest one… convergence, balance, meeting point… the first to reveal its meaning to me.
"You've been studying it for hours," Grayson said, settling beside me. "Any progress?"
I shook my head. "A few more symbols make sense now. Protection. Boundary. Blood-right. But the rest..." I sighed. "It's like trying to read through fog. I know they mean something. I just can't quite grasp what."
He reached out, his fingers hovering just above the blade without touching it . "May I?"
I hesitated, then placed the dagger carefully in his palm. He didn't try to close his fingers around it, just let it rest there, eyes half-closed as he concentrated.
"It's not just a weapon," he said after a long moment. "It's... resonant. Like it's waiting for something. For you to unlock it fully." His eyes opened, finding mine. "Your mother put a lot of herself into this. A lot of love."
