“You’re thinking too loud.” Tyr’s voice breaks into my reverie.
“I’m thinking strategically.”
“You’re thinking about us.”
I don’t deny it. “Is that a problem?”
“It’s a distraction.” But his voice is rougher than the words warrant, and when I look at him, his eyes are burning gold. “One I share.”
The admission lands like a physical blow. He’s distracted too. By me. By whatever this is between us—this growing entanglement that started as a tactical alliance and has become…
More.
“The gate.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “Focus on the gate. The trap. The vulnerability we’re hoping exists. The Arbiter. Its soldiers. The probability of survival.”
His silence is agreement.
“Not on—” I gesture between us. “This.”
Tyr stops walking. I stop too, turning to face him, and suddenly the frozen basin feels very small and very private despite its vast emptiness.
“I can’t stop thinking about it.” The words come out raw, honest in a way I’m not used to from him. “About you. About what I said last night and what it means. About walking into a kill zone and knowing that losing you is the worst outcome I can imagine, worse than my own death, worse than failing a three-century war against divine authority.”
My breath catches. Not at the intensity—I’ve seen his intensity, faced his violence, experienced the weight of his obsession. At the vulnerability. Tyr Noren, predator, is admitting fear.
“That’s not useful,” I manage.
“No.” He moves closer, slow and deliberate, giving me time to retreat. I don’t. “It’s not useful. It’s not tactical. It’s not smart. But it’s true, and your bloodline respects truth, so I’m telling you.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re walking into a trap that might kill us both. Because I want you to know what you are to me before that happens. Because—” He stops, jaw tight, struggling with words that don’t come naturally to him. “Because you chose me. Chose to stand beside me. Chose to walk into danger with me instead of away from it. And I don’t?—”
He breaks off, frustration flickering across his features.
“You don’t know how to respond to being chosen,” I finish for him. “Because dragons don’t get chosen. They take. They claim. They possess. But you didn’t take me. I stayed.”
“Yes.” The word sounds like it’s torn from him.
I close the remaining distance between us. My fingers curl into the leather of his armor, anchoring myself to him. He doesn’t move—doesn’t breathe—as I pull myself closer.
“I chose you,” I confirm. “I’m still choosing you. And when we reach the gate, when we face whatever’s waiting—I’ll choose you then too.”
His hand comes up to cup the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair. Not pulling. Holding me there like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
“Then we do this.” His hand tightens on my neck—not painful, possessive. “We find the weakness. We exploit it. We break the Arbiter’s trap or we die trying. But we do it as…”
He trails off, searching for the right word.
“Partners,” I supply.
“Partners.” He tastes the word like it’s foreign. Maybe for him, it is. “Yes.”
I pull back, meeting his gaze, reading the truth written there. The possession hasn’t faded—it’s stronger than ever, burning in his stare. But there’s room beside it now for recognition. Respect. The acknowledgment that I’m not prey he’s caught but a force he’s allied with.
It’s not love. We don’t use that word, either of us. But it’s closer to equal than anything I expected from a dragon.
It’s enough.
