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I can’t help but smile. “And here I thought I was being inscrutable.”

“Hardly.” The quick quirk of her lips makes my heart race. “Though I will need to update my documentation with these new observations.”

As we reach the corridor leading to the library, our pace slows by mutual, unspoken agreement. Neither of us seems ready to rejoin the others just yet.

“We still have work to do,” I say quietly, acknowledging the fragile new understanding between us. “Trust doesn’t rebuild overnight.”

“No,” she agrees. “But we’ve established a foundation for progress. A starting point.”

Her practical assessment of our emotional state makes me chuckle. “Only you could make reconciliation sound like a scientific experiment.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Her gaze meets mine with unexpected warmth. “Hypothesis, variables, careful observation—seeing what works and what doesn’t?”

“When you put it that way…” My tail reaches for her wrist, hesitating just shy of contact until she closes the distance herself.

As her fingers brush against my tail, I feel a sense of cautious hope settle between us. Not perfect resolution, trust not completely restored, but a path forward we’ll navigate together—one step, one day at a time.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Blair

The data on my tablet blurs as exhaustion finally catches up with me. For hours, I’ve been analyzing the final calibrations of our defensive perimeter, ensuring every crystal array will respond properly when triggered. Outside my lab window, night has long since fallen, the mountain wrapped in darkness, broken only by the soft glow of sanctuary crystals.

When I sense his presence, I glance up to see Dante standing in the entrance, holding a steaming mug and what appears to be a plate of what must be Cliff’s newest obsession, shortbread cookies.

“Working late again?” His voice carries that familiar drawl that never fails to warm me. “Some might consider that statistically significant evidence of workaholic tendencies.”

“Statistical significance requires properly established baseline parameters,” I counter, unable to suppress my smile as he approaches. “Besides, these defensive calculations won’t complete themselves.”

His tail curls with amusement as he sets the provisions next to my workstation. “I thought scientists required adequate nutritional intake for optimal cognitive function.”

“Is that your scientific way of telling me to eat something?” I raise an eyebrow, though I’m already reaching for a cookie.

“Merely an observation based on empirical evidence.” His wings shift as he settles into the chair beside mine, and the proximity calms something inside me. “You function better when not experiencing hypoglycemia.”

The casual normalcy of our banter feels like slipping into familiar clothes after wearing something uncomfortable. The mate bond pulses between us, stronger now after our work on the ridge yesterday, after those first tentative steps toward rebuilding what secrecy and revelations had damaged.

“I’ve been thinking about Kieran,” he says suddenly, his skin darkening to that deep crimson that indicates emotional intensity.

I set down my tablet, giving him my full attention. “Tell me.”

His claws trace patterns on the table, careful movements that betray his inner turmoil. “I’ve been carrying his horn like a burden. A reminder of failure rather than… what he represented.”

“Which was?” I prompt gently when he falls silent.

“The possibility of connection.” His gaze meets mine, vulnerability evident in his gaze. “He was searching for others like himself, risking everything for the chance to not be alone. And I’ve been dishonoring that by hiding his memory away, by treating it as shame rather than courage.”

My hand reaches for his without conscious thought. “What would honor him, then?”

“I want to create something.” His fingers turn, accepting my touch as his tail curls tentatively around my ankle. “A memorial garden, perhaps. Not hidden away, but somewhere beautiful. Something that celebrates what he was seeking rather than mourning what happened to him.”

The idea strikes me with its perfect rightness. “That’s… wonderful, Dante.”

“Would you help me design it?” The request comes with unexpected shyness. “Your scientific understanding of crystal properties could create something truly special.”

“Of course.” The simple agreement feels significant, a commitment to building something together beyond defensive systems and sanctuaryprotocols. “Perhaps we could incorporate elements that create wing patterns in the morning light. Something that changes with the seasons, evolves rather than remains static.”

His skin shifts to that beautiful iridescent shade that indicates deep joy or connection. “Exactly that. Not a monument to what was lost, but a living space that celebrates possibility.”