It had been the hardest year of your life.

When Garrick graduated and was ordered to leave for Samara with Xaden, the world seemed to tilt beneath your feet. You had both known it was coming, had tried to prepare yourselves for the distance, but nothing truly softens the reality of absence. You stayed together despite it all, clinging to what you had, even though the thought of not seeing him for an entire year hollowed you out day after day.

You weren’t completely alone. Imogen and Bodhi remained by your side, steady and loyal as ever. And you had responsibilities now—more than ever before. Becoming a Section Leader meant longer days, sharper expectations, and constant pressure. As a third-year, the challenges only grew deadlier, more demanding. You barely had time to breathe between training, strategy, and the ever-present threat of failure.

And then there was Varrish—the new commandant who seemed to take particular pleasure in making everything more difficult. Every letter sent out of Basgiath was inspected, scrutinized, dissected. Writing to Garrick became an exercise in restraint. You could never speak freely, never truly say what you felt. Each word was measured, stripped of intimacy. Slowly, quietly, the weight of it all began to wear you down.

Until the day everything changed.

Half the riders left the school. You were among them. For a moment, hope flared—you thought maybe this would make things easier. Maybe you’d finally be closer to him.

But Tyrrendor brought its own hardships. You were still forced to train, to learn, to endure. And you couldn’t go with Garrick when he was sent to protect the border of Aretia. Duty always came first. It always did.

Still, there were stolen moments.

You could see him now. Touch him. Kiss him. Lie beside him in his own room, even if only for a few precious hours at a time. The familiarity of his presence—his voice low in the dark, the steady warmth of his body beside yours—was both comforting and cruel. Because it never lasted.

He tried. You both did. But maintaining a relationship carved by distance and duty was harder than either of you had expected. Conversations stayed shallow, not for lack of care, but lack of energy. When you were together, exhaustion wrapped around you both like a second skin. Most nights, you only had the strength to share fragments of your day before sleep pulled you under. Sometimes, if you were lucky, you stole a few quiet kisses, clinging to each other as if that alone could bridge the growing space between you.

But those moments were rare.

Tonight was another night without him.

You hadn’t seen Garrick in a week. The days had stretched long and restless, and the nights even worse. You were half-asleep when the door to your shared room creaked open in the middle of the night.

And then he was there.