I never meant to care this much.

When she first stepped onto the parapet, trembling but stubborn as a storm-stuck hawk, I expected her to fall. Everyone did. Too soft, too breakable, too… human for Basgiath. I told myself she wouldn’t last a week.

Yet here she is months later, walking beside me across the training grounds like she owns the place—chin lifted, red hair tied haphazardly, eyes bright with that infuriating spark that refuses to die.

And of course she talks to dragons. My dragon. Like they’re old friends.

I watch her press her hand to Tairn’s snout, whispering something that makes the massive beast huff a warm breath at her. She laughs, and the sound hits me like a blade through armor.

“Traitor,” I mutter to the dragon.

She glances over her shoulder. “He likes me more than you, Xaden. Obviously.”

Light. That’s what she is. A light I never asked for, but one I can’t seem to walk away from.

I fall into step behind her as we head to morning drills, pretending I’m looking everywhere except at her. But she notices. She always notices.

“You’re staring again,” she says under her breath.

“No,” I lie smoothly. “I’m assessing your weaknesses.”

She smirks. “You’ve been assessing them for months. Found any yet?”

Just one—her. How she crawled under my skin, how she made me forget that Basgiath is not a place for softness or hope. How she looks at me like I’m something more than a weapon shaped out of anger and expectation.

During sparring, she nearly gets knocked off balance by another rider. I’m across the mat before I even think about it, grabbing her waist, steadying her against my chest.

She tilts her head up. “Overprotective much?”

“You could’ve been hurt.”

“And I wasn’t.” She pokes my chest lightly. “Relax. I’m not made of glass.”

I know that. I’ve seen her hold her ground against people twice her size. I’ve seen her walk into the dragons’ flight field without fear. I’ve seen her scorch someone’s pride with nothing but a clever remark. But the idea of losing her—of watching something happen to her on my watch—makes something primal twist inside me.

After practice we end up where we always do: the quiet corner behind the flight yard where the wind is warm and no one bothers us. She sits beside me, knees tucked close, shoulder brushing mine.

“Tairn says you’re brooding more than usual,” she says.

“He doesn’t talk.”

“Maybe not to you.” She grins. “Maybe he likes me more.”

I shake my head, but the smile threatens anyway. She does that—pulls emotion out of me without even trying.

I lean back against the wall, letting the rare peace settle between us. She nudges my shoulder once, twice, waiting for me to look at her. When I do, her expression softens in that way that steals the breath from my lungs.

“You know,” she murmurs, “you don’t have to pretend with me.”

Pretending. I’ve been doing it for years. Pretending I’m unbreakable. Pretending nothing gets to me. Pretending I didn’t fall for the girl everyone counted out.

I reach out, gently hooking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not pretending.”

She blushes—just barely—but I catch it. She always pretends she’s unaffected, but I see through her too.

We sit like that for a long moment, the world quiet except for dragons shifting in the distance and her breath mixing with mine.

“Xaden?” she whispers.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

And maybe I shouldn’t say it, maybe it’s risky, maybe caring for someone in a place like Basgiath is the worst strategic decision I could make… but I can’t help it.

“I’m glad you’re here too,” I murmur. “More than you know.”