Your cheeks warm further at the memory, the faint echo of So’lek’s voice still lingering in your ears—too controlled, too tight for a man who claimed indifference.

Ri’nela’s lips curve, subtle and satisfied, as she continues just a little louder than necessary. “Eetu says you learn quickly. Faster than anyone he’s trained before,” she adds, tilting her head toward you. “He seemed very… impressed.”

Behind the woven wall, So’lek goes still.

You feel it before you hear it—the shift in the air, the quiet tension that coils like a drawn bowstring. His shadow freezes where it falls across the ground, broad shoulders squared, breath slowed. He is listening. Ri’nela knows it. She always does things like this when she wants to stir trouble.

You swallow, fingers tightening around the strap at your chest. Eetu had been loud, confident, full of that effortless Aranahe charm—quick smiles, quicker praise. A good hunter, undeniably skilled. Cocky enough to say it out loud.

“He showed me a new way to read the wind,” you say carefully. “And how to track without disturbing the undergrowth.”

There is a soft scrape of leather behind the wall. A restrained sound. A man biting back words.

So’lek steps into view then, eyes sharp and unreadable, jaw set hard enough to ache. His gaze flicks to Ri’nela first—knowing, unimpressed—then settles on you. When his eyes meet yours, something dark and heated passes through them, gone almost as soon as it appears.

“Eetu,” he repeats, voice low. Measured. Dangerous in its calm. “The Aranahe hunter.”

Ri’nela hides her smile by busying herself with a basket. “I heard he’s the best in his clan,” she says sweetly. “If not all the forest.”

So’lek exhales through his nose. “Skill is loud when it needs to be heard,” he replies. “True hunters do not need to announce themselves.”

His eyes never leave you.

You shift, suddenly aware of how close he stands now, how his presence seems to press into your space without ever touching. He smells of smoke and leaves and metal—battle and forest intertwined. You remember how those same hands had pulled you from the wreckage of the TAP ambush, how he had stood between you and the RDA without hesitation, blades flashing, body a shield.

“I would have taught you,” he says finally.

The words land heavy.

Ri’nela pauses, feigning innocence. “Oh? You never offered.”

“So’lek does not offer what should already be his duty,” he answers sharply—then softer, almost unwillingly, “Especially not when it comes to her.”

Your breath catches.

There it is. The truth beneath the restraint.

He steps closer, close enough that you can see the faint scar at his temple, the one he never speaks of. His voice lowers, meant only for you now. “You learn hunting, ikran bonding, battle… from another, while I am sent away,” he says. “It does not sit well with me.”

Jealousy doesn’t suit him—but it lives in him all the same, fierce and protective. Not loud like Eetu’s confidence. Quiet. Possessive. Earned.

You know then—have always known.

You are everything he looks for in a mate. Strength without cruelty. Grace sharpened by survival. You hunt, you cook, you weave, you ride the sky and the plains as if born to them. You tear down RDA bases alone and walk away without boasting. You do not need saving—yet still, he would save you every time.

So’lek’s jaw tightens, then relaxes as he reins himself in.

“I do not blame Eetu,” he admits, reluctantly honest. “Any man with eyes would notice you.”

His gaze softens, just a fraction.

“But I would rather,” he finishes quietly, “that you learned beside me.”

The silence that follows is thick with unspoken want, Ri’nela wisely retreating now, leaving only the two of you and the truth hanging between heartbeats.