His body radiates heat against mine. Hotter than it should be, given the cold pressing in from every direction. Dragon blood, probably. Internal fire that keeps him burning even when the world tries to freeze him out.
I shouldn’t notice.
But I notice. I catalog. I’m aware.
And I can’t make myself stop.
“You should sleep.” His voice is quieter here, intimate in the enclosed space.
“Someone needs to watch.”
“I’ll watch.”
“You’re still healing.”
“I’ll watch.” He shifts slightly, and suddenly his body’s positioned between me and the alcove’s entrance. Blocking any threat that might approach.
“Twenty minutes,” I hear myself say. “Then we switch.”
“Thirty.”
“Twenty.”
A ghost of amusement flickers in his expression. “Twenty-five. Final offer.”
My mouth opens to protest. Nothing comes out. The Auric Veil’s drained more from me than I want to admit, and the divine pressure in these roads is wearing me down with every passing hour.
“Fine.” I let my eyes close, let my head rest against the crystalline wall behind me. The cold seeps through my hair, my scalp. I should mind. Don’t have the energy.
“Zephyra.”
His voice pulls me back from the edge of sleep. I open my eyes to find him watching me with an expression I can’t quite read—something between vigilance and something else entirely.
“Sleep.” The word comes out low, almost careful. Like a man who doesn’t give comfort often and isn’t certain he’s doing it right. “I’ve got the watch.”
I close my eyes.
His presence stays solid. His breathing stays steady in my ears. And despite everything—despite the divine magic pressing down, despite the Arbiter hunting us, despite the odds stacked so high they block out the sky—I find myself drifting into rest.
Letting a predator guard my sleep.
When I wake, he’s exactly where I left him. Watching the ley-roads.
“Twenty-five minutes.” He doesn’t look at me as he speaks. “Time’s up.”
I stretch, feeling the ache in my muscles, the lingering fatigue in my bones. “Any trouble?”
“A discharge in the eastern branch. Magic built and released while you slept. Would’ve killed us if we’d taken that path.”
“Good thing we didn’t.”
He turns to look at me then, and the expression on his face makes my breath catch. Not soft—nothing about him is soft. But there’s recognition in his eyes that wasn’t there before.
“Good thing you knew the safe path.” He offers me a hand. “Your sight saved us. Again.”
I take his hand. Let him pull me to my feet. The contact lasts a moment longer than necessary—his fingers steady against mine, his grip sure and certain.
When I step back, his hand stays extended for a half-second. Like he didn’t want to let go.
