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“I’m glad it was you. Who rescued me.”

His arms tighten around me for just a moment, and I feel something in him relax, some tension I hadn’t even realized he was carrying.

“So am I,” he whispers, so softly I almost miss it.

As my eyes grow heavy, I feel him wind a strand of my hair around one careful claw. The gesture feels possessive in a way that should probably concern me, but instead sends warmth flooding through my system.

The sound he makes—something between a purr and a growl—awakens feelings I can’t properly classify.

Just before sleep claims me, I feel him press his face to the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. The tenderness in the gesture makes my heart ache with emotions too complex for any spreadsheet to capture.

Chapter Ten

Blair

After last night’s nightmares, I couldn’t bear the isolation of my lab, and even the library felt too secluded. I needed the comfort of open space and the quiet buzz of sanctuary life around me, so I’ve set up a temporary workspace in the great hall. The distant sounds of other cryptids going about their day provide a soothing backdrop that keeps the memories at bay.

The words I’m trying to read blur together. My mind keeps drifting back to last night—strong arms, the delicious scent of warm skin and spice, protective wings, and the way Dante’s tail curled around my waist as nightmares faded into dreamless sleep.

Marina gives me a gentle smile as she glides past, her scales dripping shimmering droplets from a recent dip in the pool at the bottom of the waterfall. “Sleep well?”

Heat creeps up my neck as Iremember waking alone, though Dante’s lingering scent told me he had stayed most of the night. “Adequately,” I manage, burying myself in my data to avoid further conversation.

The sound of wings makes my heart race, but it’s only Volt landing in his usual spot. The massive Thunderbird’s electricity ripples with barely suppressed amusement as he watches me pretend to work.

“Interesting readings this morning,” he rumbles, gesturing to my monitoring equipment. “The crystal resonance patterns show unusual activity in the residential wing around 2 AM.”

“Environmental anomalies,” I protest weakly, though we both know what—who—caused those energy spikes.

“Of course.” His feathers ripple with knowing humor. “Just like Dante was simply ‘patrolling’ the hallway just outside your chamber all night.”

Before I can formulate a proper scientific response, familiar footsteps approach. My pulse quickens as Dante appears, carrying something wrapped in soft leather.

“Morning.” His skin shifts between crimson and obsidian as our gazes meet. We both glance away quickly, the memory of shared vulnerability still too raw.

“Good morning.” My voice emerges steadier than I feel. “I should review these test results…”

“Always working.” But his tail curls near his feet with what might be fondness as he sets the leather bundle beside me. “I found something you might appreciate.”

Curious, despite my attempt at professional distance, I carefully unwrap the package. Inside lies an ancient leather-bound journal, its pages filled with precise handwriting and detailed diagrams.

“It’s a research log,” he explains, skin darkening as I reverently touch the carefully preserved pages. “Written by a cryptid scientist centuries ago. She was like you—brilliant, methodical, always seeking to understand. She developed a unique system for cataloging cryptid physiological responses…”

My scanner and earbud are in my pocket. I quickly insert the earbud, excitement making my fingers fumble, and run the scanner as quickly as it can translate.

My breath catches as I recognize the elegant organizational structure. The way she cross-referenced observations and created matrices for tracking multiple variables—it’s exactly how my mind works.

“I’ve been organizing the library,” he continues, watching my fingers trace the careful notations. “Found this in a section on biochemical analysis. Thought you might want to see how another scientist approached similar research questions.”

The gift isn’t just a book—it’s validation. Understanding. He’s seen how I process information, how I make sense of the world through data and patterns, and instead of dismissing it as cold or clinical, he’s found a way to honor it.

“Thank you.” The words feel inadequate for the warmth blooming in my chest. “This is… perfectly organized.”

His tail brushes my arm ashe leans closer, his horns gleaming in the citrine-colored gem light. His clawed nail points out a particularly detailed diagram. “She even developed her own notation system for tracking energy signatures. Reminded me of your spreadsheets.”

“The organizational methodology is fascinating.” Running the scanner slowly over the careful charts helps steady my racing thoughts. “The way she integrated multiple data streams…”

“Thought you’d like that.” His voice carries that mix of affection and amusement I’m learning to recognize. “She went on to make several important discoveries about cryptid biology. Her work laid the foundation for understanding how our abilities manifest.”