The Hollow slept unevenly.
Not from fear—but from exhaustion.
Training had ended hours ago, yet the stone corridors still carried echoes of laughter, groans, and low conversations drifting into sleep. Lanterns burned low. Guards rotated quietly.
Aelira sat alone at the edge of the upper platform, cloak loose around her shoulders, boots discarded beside her.
She was tired.
Not weak—just spent.
Footsteps approached.
She didn't turn.
"You're going to catch a chill," Kael said softly.
She smiled faintly. "You always say that."
"And I'm usually right."
He stopped beside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth, the quiet gravity of him. Not armor tonight. Just dark fabric, loosened at the collar, sword resting against the stone.
They stood in silence for a moment.
It wasn't awkward.
It was heavy.
"You led them today," Kael said finally. "Not because they had to follow you."
Aelira looked up at him. "But because they wanted to?"
"Yes."
She exhaled slowly. "That scares me more."
He turned toward her then, expression serious. "Why?"
"Because wanting makes people vulnerable," she said. "Including me."
Kael hesitated.
Then he reached out—not quickly, not boldly—and brushed his thumb against her knuckles.
"Then you're not alone in it anymore."
The contact was light.
But it burned.
Aelira didn't pull away.
Neither did he.
They were both adults now—years past the girl she had once been, years hardened by war, loss, rebirth, and choice. There was no innocence left between them.
Only restraint.
And how thin it had become.
"Aelira," Kael murmured, her name softer than he'd ever said it. "If we cross this line—"
"I know," she whispered. "So do you."
She turned to face him fully.
Moonlight traced the sharp lines of his face, the tension in his jaw, the control he wore like armor even now.
"You've been holding back since the forest," she said quietly.
"Yes."
"Why?"
His breath slowed. "Because once I stop—"
He didn't finish.
He didn't need to.
Aelira reached up, fingers brushing the edge of his collar, feeling his pulse jump beneath her touch.
"Then don't stop," she said softly. "Just… don't disappear afterward."
Something in his eyes broke.
Not violently.
Honestly.
Kael cupped her face with both hands, forehead resting against hers.
"This stays," he said. "Whatever this is—it stays."
She nodded.
And kissed him.
Not desperate.
Not rushed.
Slow. Deep. Certain.
His hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer, grounding her against him as if to prove they were real, here, alive.
Aelira's breath caught—not from fear, but from the heat of it. From how easily he fit against her, how natural it felt.
They broke apart only when breath became necessary.
Kael rested his forehead against hers again, voice low and rough.
"We should stop," he said.
She smiled faintly. "We won't."
"No," he agreed. "But we'll be careful."
He brushed his lips to her temple, then her cheek—lingering, reverent.
The night wrapped around them, shielding without hiding.
Later, much later, when the lanterns burned lower and the Hollow slept deeply—
They lay side by side in quiet, clothed but close, fingers loosely intertwined, sharing warmth instead of promises.
Outside, rebellion breathed.
Inside, something softer—
and far more dangerous—
had taken root.