He goes very still.
"Is that so?" he says.
"That is what I have heard."
The corner of his mouth moves. Just slightly.
"And where," he says, his voice dropping, "did you hear that?"
I smile, then pull away. “We must finish.”
Colsar nods reluctantly. We work through it piece by piece after that, adjusting and refining, finding a path that had not been there before simply because neither of us had been looking at it together.
When it is done he exhales, a quiet release that feels larger than the moment itself.
"I will send word," he says.
He rises and speaks to Arabar with calm precision, issuing instructions that carry the weight of decision rather than hesitation. The extraction will begin. The tunnel will hold. The men will come home.
By the time he returns the room has quieted around us.
I am already in bed, the exhaustion of the day finally moving through my body now that there is nothing left to hold it back. My eyes close before I mean them to.
I feel him before I see him. The shift of the mattress. The warmth at my back. His mouth against my neck.
I open my eyes.
The sensation is quiet and unhurried, his lips moving slowly along the curve of my skin as though he is grounding himself in it.
"If this is what you were holding back," I murmur, my voice still heavy with sleep, "how did you think I did not need it too?"
He pauses, his breath warm against my shoulder.
"I will not keep you awake," he says softly. "I just needed to—" his voice drops slightly before returning, quieter and more certain. "To kiss you."
I turn in his arms, facing him.
"And to say thank you," he adds.
"For what?" I ask.
His hand lifts, brushing lightly along my cheek before falling back to the space between us. "For loving me," he says. "For staying. For helping me fix what I could not fix alone." His eyes move briefly toward the table, the maps still scattered, the solution we found together resting among them. "The world is easier to carry when it is not only mine."
Something in my chest eases at that.
I move closer without thinking. I lean in, letting my breasts rest against him, not caring about the milk that leaks onto his chest now that I realize he doesn’t care either. He sits up, his hands gripping my hips as he wraps my legs around him. When he enters me, it’s with a tenderness that catches me off guard, a slow, deep press that makes my eyes sting with emotion.
"Asharin," he whispers against my mouth, voice low, almost breaking. “I am yours.”
I nod, hands sliding up his shoulders, holding on as the rhythm builds, controlled but not rushed. The sensation tightens in my core, each motion drawing us closer until the tension snaps. I shudder against him, a quiet cry swallowed by his kiss, as he follows a moment later, his grip tightening on my hips, a low groan muffled between our lips as he spills inside me.
We stay like that, tangled and breathless. That night, I sleep on top of him, the weight of his arms around me a solid anchor.
My breath slows.
The tension that had carried me through the day finally loosens its hold, and I drift off, pressed against him.
The Unexpected Visitor
