The night had not released him, even hours later.
Killan still felt the shape of her where she had stood within his arms - the quiet steadiness of her breath, the way she had not leaned into him nor pulled away, but simply allowed the closeness as though it were a thing neither of them needed to name. It had not been dramatic. No declarations. No trembling surrender.
Just stillness.
Just trust.
And somehow, that had unsettled him more than any battlefield ever had.
He walked the halls of Athax again before dawn, boots soundless against the worn stone. The corridors were dim and familiar, a path his body knew even when his thoughts wandered elsewhere. He often walked at night. He always had. Long before Aya had ever come south. Long before she had become his Queen.
Walking helped quiet his mind. Or, at least, it gave the noise somewhere to go.
Tonight, it was not quiet.
