Miles and the RDA had sought out help from the Ash people to capture Jake Sully and his family. What Miles didn’t expect was to find you—Varang’s younger sibling—to be something worth keeping.

—

Miles stood motionless near the firelight, his massive frame barely swaying as the humid night air clung to his skin. The ceremonial paints streaked across his chest and arms in jagged lines—traditional Mangkwan patterns forced onto him, though no one dared call it that. He didn’t resist—Not anymore. The ash from the fire settled in faint gray flecks on his shoulders, blending with the deep blue of his skin. His yellow-green eyes tracked movement across the clearing, unblinking, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

You were weaving through the gathered warriors, your voice sharp against the low hum of conversation. The clan had accepted Miles—or tolerated him, at least—because Varang decreed it. But you… you hadn’t just tolerated him—You’d challenged him. First with words, then with steel, when you’d pressed a blade to his throat the third night he’d lingered too close to your sleeping quarters. He’d let you. He could have snapped your wrist without thinking—But instead, he’d gone still. He needed you close, and he didn’t know why.

The firelight flickered, casting long shadows that twisted like living things between the trees. You were adjusting the straps on your quiver when the heat of a body pressed against your back—too close, too sudden. Before you could turn, Miles' breath ghosted over the curve of your ear, low and deliberate. "I see you," he murmured, the Na'vi greeting rough in his throat. His voice wasn't gentle—It wasn't a question—It was a claim.