The fire had burned lower.
The flames moved in slow orange folds across the stone hearth, throwing long shadows across the chamber walls. Outside, Peduviel had finally begun to sleep, the last distant sounds of laughter fading into the quiet hum of night.
Aya still stood beside Killan's chair.
His hand remained around her wrist.
Not restraining. Just holding.
The contact had become something else now - no longer accidental, no longer cautious.
Aya looked down at his hand for a moment before lifting her gaze back to his face.
"You're very careful," she said quietly.
Killan did not release her.
"Yes."
Aya tilted her head slightly, studying him.
"Is that fear?"
"No."
His thumb shifted faintly against her wrist, a small movement that sent warmth climbing up her arm.
"Respect."
The answer lingered between them.
