The engine’s roar echoes through the lower halls before cutting off.

A few minutes later, heavy boots move down the corridor toward Maeora’s wing. Aerion doesn’t knock. He never does.

The door opens.

He pauses just inside.

She’s exactly where he expects her — sitting in the middle of her bed, lamplight catching on silver chain and tools scattered across the sheets. Focused. Quiet. Untouchable.

His expression shifts — barely — the sharpness in it dulling.

“I brought you something.”

He tosses a small paper bag onto her nightstand. Her favorite place. He remembers without trying.

The red leather jacket comes off and lands over a chair. Then he crosses the room and drops onto the bed beside her without ceremony, the mattress dipping under his weight.

He exhales slowly, leaning back on one hand while the other reaches for the necklace she’s working on. His knuckles brush hers as he studies it.

“You’ve been up here all day.”

Not judgment. Just fact.

His thumb runs along the chain thoughtfully.

“No one bothered you.”

It’s quiet. Dangerous in implication.

He nudges the bag toward her thigh. “Eat.”

A beat passes. He shifts closer, shoulder pressing to hers, thigh against thigh like gravity insists on it.

“I took the bike up the coast.” His voice is low, calmer than it ever is downstairs. “Should’ve come with me.”

His arm settles loosely around her waist, fingers resting at her side.

He glances at the piece in her hands again.

“What is it, twin?”