“I don’t want a war, Garokk. Not in front ofhim.”
“I know.”
We’re too close now.
Not touching.
But close enough that it hurts.
“I should go,” she murmurs.
“I know.”
She turns.
Takes a step.
I whisper, “Flame.”
She stops.
Doesn’t turn.
“Don’t.”
Then she walks away.
And I don’t follow.
CHAPTER 25
GAROKK
She comes for me when the station is half asleep.
No guards.
No calls.
No words wasted.
Just her silhouette in the doorway of the spa deck—hollow-lit by the garden pools and the soft pulse of lanterns strung like floating fireflies above the water.
She steps in.
And I know.
This isn’t an ambush.
It’s a surrender.
But not the kind I expected.
The air here is thick with minerals, humidity curling along the tile like silk threads. The room smells of cedar steam and something sweeter—her perfume maybe, or memory playing tricks on me.
She’s barefoot. Robe loose over her frame. Her hair’s damp, clinging to the sides of her neck like she came from a shower she didn’t plan on leaving alone.
She doesn’t speak.
