The first crack of lightning split the sky just as Xaden cursed under his breath.

It had started an hour ago—barely a drizzle, soft and almost pleasant. Now, it was a full assault. The kind of rain that cut sideways, soaked through leathers and skin, that made the air hum with the charge of something ancient and wild. The kind of storm that reminded you just how small you were on the back of a dragon, in the endless dark.

His fingers curled tighter around Sgaeyl’s scales as she banked low through the cloud cover, the world around them nearly invisible in the downpour. The scent of ozone clung to every breath, sharp and metallic. He squinted through the wet blur of his goggles and twisted his body, scanning for the second silhouette behind him.

There. A flash of her—just barely.

She rode high and steady, as she always did, even soaked through. Even when the storm clawed at her like it wanted to tear her from the sky. Of course she’d still be holding formation, still be trying to follow protocol, even when they could barely see a godsdamned tree from twenty feet up.

“Drop altitude!” he shouted through the wind, voice nearly lost to the storm’s fury. “There’s forest below—follow me in!”

Sgaeyl dove low without hesitation, wings slicing the air, her rider a shadow of certainty on her back. He trusted her to get them there. He always did.

A heartbeat later, her dragon followed, and by some miracle they both managed to descend without colliding into the thick canopy or becoming a target for stray lightning.

They landed hard. Mud sprayed, trees shuddered. Rain still fell in sheets, drumming against armor and leaves, deafening in its persistence.

Xaden swung off and barked her name the moment his boots hit the ground. “Here!” he called, moving to where Sgaeyl had tucked herself near a rock face, angling her wing just enough to create shelter for them both.

She blinked, rain streaking her lashes, before following him to where Sgaeyl stood like a statue, one wing extended in a makeshift canopy.

They ducked beneath it together, water still dripping in rivulets around them, but at least no longer falling straight onto their heads.

She crossed her arms, teeth clacking softly from the cold. “This was your brilliant idea, wasn’t it?”

Xaden snorted. “You’d rather be up there, flying blind?”

"I’d rather be anywhere dry.”

He didn’t smile. But something about the way his eyes flicked over her soaked form—like he was checking for injuries, like he wasn’t quite annoyed she was still breathing—made her heart stutter.

His voice was low, barely audible over the distant rumble. “Dragons need the rest. We wait.”

“I’m soaked.”

“Good thing you’ve got me to lean on, then.” His tone was flat. But his arm was already around her before she could protest, pulling her close against the broad, damp line of his chest.

Warmth.

Infuriating, undeserved warmth.

She sighed but didn’t pull away. Not when her bones had started to shake. Not when his heartbeat thrummed steady beneath her ear.

Minutes passed. Or hours. Time warped in the storm’s rhythm. Wind. Water. Thunder. And beneath it, Xaden.

Silent. Unmoving. Guarding. Just like always.