The air was still after the battle, the stars above warped and distant. You and Anaxa stood side by side in the aftermath, your shoulders brushing in the silence.

He glanced at you, eyes softer than usual. “You always run in without thinking,” He murmured. “You’ll get yourself killed doing that for me.”

“I’d do it again,” You replied. “I trust you.”

He stepped closer, his hand brushing your cheek—hesitant, uncharacteristically gentle. “Then let me do something reckless too,” He whispered, leaning in.

You stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“Anaxa… I can’t,” You said. “Not like that.”

The space between you tightened, then fell away. His hand dropped, and for a moment, his expression flickered—hurt, unreadable.

“I see,” He said quietly. “Guess I misread it.”