“No.”
“Figured.” Beck leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed, watching Aero with an expression that held neither fear nor judgment. Just steady assessment. “For what it’s worth, Delos talked about you constantly. All fifteen years of working with you. Called you an emotionally clogged disaster with the interpersonal skills of a particularly antisocial rock.”
Despite everything, something in Aero’s chest loosened fractionally. “That sounds accurate.”
“He also said you were the best person he’d ever known. That underneath all the silence and the years of distance, you actuallygave a damn. He said he chose to follow you because he saw something worth believing in.” Beck’s voice softened. “He’s not going to die, Aero. The healers are good. And Delos is too damn stubborn to let a siren take him out.”
“He shouldn’t have been there.” The words ripped out of him. “I should have been the one to confront her. I should have?—”
“Should have what? Known she’d attack? Known she’d summon a water construct? Known that your hundred-year-old assistant would throw himself in front of a wave meant for someone else?” Beck shook his head. “He made a choice. Same choice any of us would have made to protect someone we care about.”
“He cares about Cassia because of me.”
“Yeah. He does.” Beck’s gaze was uncomfortably knowing. “And that’s not a burden, man. That’s what family looks like.”
Aero turned away from the door, unable to stand still any longer. He paced the narrow corridor, each step precisely controlled despite the chaos churning inside him. Three steps one direction. Turn. Three steps back. The pattern of someone used to containing himself in small spaces.
His dragon snarled its fury at the walls, at the closed door, at everything it couldn’t reach.She hurt what’s ours.The accusation burned through him—at Nerissa, at himself. Their mate. Their brother. The beast had named Delos that, and Aero found he couldn’t argue.
Brother. When had that happened? When had the cheerful assistant he’d tolerated because he was competent become someone his beast considered family?
Somewhere in the past fifteen years, probably. Somewhere between the terrible jokes and the unwanted emotional advice and the stubborn refusal to let Aero disappear.
“Aero.”
Her voice cut through the rage like lightning through clouds.
He turned to find Cassia walking toward him down the corridor. She’d cleaned up since the fight—no more blood on her hands, no more gore in her hair—but exhaustion lined her face, and her movements held the careful quality of someone running on fumes.
His dragon strained toward her, the single word tolling through him like a bell:mate, safe, here—and some of the darkness in his chest gave way.
“The healers just came out.” The words came out barely above a whisper. “They said he’s stable. Unconscious, but stable. The wing damage will take time to heal, but he’ll recover fully.”
Relief hit him so hard, his legs threatened to buckle. He braced a hand against the wall, drawing a ragged breath.
“He’s going to be okay,” Cassia repeated, moving closer. “They’re keeping him sedated for now so his body can focus on healing, but he’s going to be okay.”
“He shouldn’t have been there.” The guilt was a living thing, clawing at his chest. “I should have been the one?—”
“You weren’t.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “I was. And Delos made his choice.”
“Because of me. He protected you because of me.”
“He protected me because he’s a good person who saw someone in danger.” She stopped in front of him, close enough to touch but not quite touching. “He protected me because he knew what I mean to you. Don’t dishonor that by drowning in guilt.”
Her hand reached out and settled on his forearm.
The restless charge that usually lived between them was nowhere to be found. Instead, something steadier moved through the contact—warm and quiet, like current running deep rather than sparking at the surface. The chaos in his chest quieted. Not gone, but contained. Focused.
Aero stared at her hand on his arm, then at her face. “How are you doing that?”
“I don’t know.” Her lips curved in a tired smile. “Maybe trauma burns off the volatility. Or maybe we’re at last learning how to exist in the same space without destroying things.”
“That would be convenient.”
“Very.” Her thumb traced a small circle on his wrist. The simple touch anchored him more effectively than any meditation technique he’d mastered in his long life. “Beck told me you’ve been out here the whole time. That you nearly shifted in the hallway when they wouldn’t let you in.”
“I wanted to see him.”
