Page 177

Ellie shifts slightly, her leg sliding over mine in her sleep, and my pulse jumps. Not out of alarm as it should, but because of how my body betrays me with longing.

Images from last night flood my mind unbidden. The heat of her skin beneath my hands. Her silver light threading through my shadows, creating patterns I've never seen in all my years wielding darkness. The way the silver pooled at her fingertips where they traced across my chest, leaving luminous trails that sank slowly into my skin. Her body arching?—

A soft knock cuts through my thoughts. It's jarring in thesilence. Too loud, too sudden, tooreal—yanking me from dangerous territory. From the edge of something I can't afford to want.

Ellie stirs, the hand on my shoulder tightening for half a second before relaxing again.

I have to move.

I untangle from her slowly, taking care not to wake her. The second I leave the bed, cold rushes in against skin still overheated from her touch. And for one reckless heartbeat, I hate the cold for taking her from me.

My body still remembers her. Still aches for her.

I reach for my pants first, then my tunic. Each movement is precise, controlled. A soldier’s ritual. Order imposed against chaos. Against feeling.

But my body is slower to obey.

My chest is tight. My breathing is a little too quick. Because this isn’t just about last night.

This is the first time I have woken up next to someone, and not wanted to slip away before they opened their eyes. Last night, there was no war. No fight for control. Only this. Her, me, the silver and shadows entwined. A moment I never allowed myself to believe could exist.

Andthatis dangerous.

I glance back at the bed. Ellie is still there. Her body half-buried in the sheets, dark hair fanned across the pillow, her breathing even. But I see it. That faint trace of silver beneath her skin, darkened at the edges where my shadows touched her.

She shifts slightly, and her hand creeps across the mattress towardthe space I just left. A muscle in my jaw clenches. I turn away, just as the door opens.

Varam steps inside. His gaze flicks between me and the bed.

“The final Day of Order preparations have begun.” He sets a plate with bread and cheese on the table. “Authority soldiers are gathering.”

Ellie shifts at the sound of Varam’s voice, her breathing faltering for just a second. Her fingers tense against the sheets, and she takes in a breath. Not a gasp, but the controlled inhale of someone gathering themselves. She remains perfectly still at first, not looking at me, though I can see the pulse at her throat quickening. The moment of realization ripples across her features. Where she is, who she's with, what passed between us in the night, and the fact that we are no longer alone.

Her shoulders pull back in a small, defensive movement. Her fingers tighten around the sheet until her knuckles pale. Then, with a deliberate composure that tells me more about her strength than any words could, she gathers the sheets against her chest and sits up.

But she still doesn’t look at me.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and she releases a carefully measured breath. When her gaze finally lifts to mine, I feel it as much as see it. Embarrassment definitely, uncertainty perhaps, but beneath both, that flash of defiance I've come to recognize.

Then her features smooth over, control reasserting itself as she moves, taking the sheet with her as she stands. Her movements are stiff as she gathers her scattered clothes, the silver beneath her skin still glowing faintly where my shadows touched her.

Just the memory sends a ripple of darkness beneath my own skin. I give brief thought to sending Varam away, but control reasserts itself. Instead, I call a strand of shadow. It weaves itself between her and the room in a shifting opaque screen, rising without a sound, and veiling her from sight.

Varam watches for a second, then turns back to me.

"I returned last night," he says, his tone carefully neutral. "When I saw you were ... occupied, I decided not to interrupt. I stayed in Mira's room instead."

His gaze flicks to the rumpled sheets on the bed, then back to me. Years of friendship allows him to read what others cannot. The slight tension in my stance, the way my shadows move restlessly beneath the surface.

“It doesn’t change the mission,” I tell him, needing to believe it myself.

"No," he says, with the quiet certainty of someone who has watched me command armies and survive impossible odds. "But it's changing you.”

He's right. I can't deny it. Something inside me has shifted, a realignment I never planned for. But acknowledging it now, hours before we infiltrate Ashenvale, would be suicide. I lock it away. A problem for another time,ifwe survive today.

"Have they added any extra patrols?" I ask, returning my focus to Varam and the mission.

“As expected. The inner and outer walls are still well-guarded, but their full attention will be centered on the main plaza when Sereven comes out.”