I feel that pulse in my ribs. In my arm. Everywhere.
The bond is not loud now. It’s not the system’s pull. Not a hook or a command. It’s a presence. Kavor is steady and cool and alive inside the shape of me. Not taking space. Answering it.
I sit on the edge of the sleeping platform because Merra has opinions and my legs have started agreeing with them. My ribs ache. My arm burns beneath the fresh wrap. My whole body feels like the City tried to grind me into flour and only partially succeeded.
Kavor watches. Not my arm. Me.
That is still new enough that it hurts.
“You’re staring,” I say.
“Yes.”
“Usually people deny that.”
“I am not people.”
“I’ve noticed.”
His mouth almost moves. Almost. The room seems to notice too.
I look down at my hands because looking at him has become dangerous in an entirely different way.
“So,” I say.
His head tilts. I hate that he can make silence feel like a question.
“We’re bonded.”
“Yes.”
“Fully.”
“Yes.”
“That was… dramatic.”
“Yes.”
“The floor opened. There was light. A giant machine eye stared at us from under the City. Adran almost became a cautionary tale.”
“He still may.”
“That’s not soothing.”
“It was not intended to be.”
A laugh slips out, small and cracked, and then turns into something else halfway through.
Not crying. Absolutely not. My eyes burn anyway.
Kavor takes one step. Stops. Waits. Always waiting. That’s what undoes me.
Not the bond. Not the light. Not the fact that somewhere below us, a reservoir glows, and somewhere above the sky, something heard us answer.
This male, standing three paces away, still refusing to cross the space I haven’t given him.
“Kavor.”
