The morning was crisp and blue-washed, sunlight filtering through the windows as the scent of toast and spiced jam drifted from the kitchen. Kaja lay stretched in a sunbeam by the table, head resting on her paws, while Lyra sipped slowly from a mug of tea. The quiet hum of domestic life surrounded her—familiar, grounding.

A knock sounded at the front door.

Hassian, already halfway through his plate of chappa sausage and eggs, glanced up. “Expecting anyone?”

Lyra shook her head. Kaja lifted her head.

When she opened the door, she found Subira standing on the front steps, composed as ever in her silver-trimmed Order cloak. A breeze caught the hem of it, tugging it against her legs.

“Subira,” Lyra greeted, surprised but not unkind. “Morning.”

“Morning,” the woman returned, offering a faint smile. “Forgive the intrusion. I hope I’m not disturbing anything.”

“No,” Lyra said, stepping back. “Come in.”

Subira entered, her eyes sweeping briefly over the space—cozy, lived-in, clearly shared. Hassian stood near the table, his arms loosely crossed, a calm alertness in his posture.

She inclined her head. “Hassian.”

He nodded back. “Subira.”

There was a brief, polite pause. Then Hassian glanced toward Lyra.

“I’ll be in the garden,” he said. “Come find me when you're finished.”

He stepped past Subira without another word, brushing his fingers lightly along Lyra’s back as he went. The warmth of his touch lingered, a steady reassurance in the pit of her stomach. Kaja followed him, tail flicking once at the threshold before vanishing behind him.

Subira waited until the door closed.

“Thank you for seeing me,” she said, setting her satchel down near the table. “I know this isn’t exactly the kind of visit anyone looks forward to.”

Lyra tilted her head slightly. “You’re not here just to say hello, then.”

“No.” Subira’s expression softened. “There’s been some troubling activity outside the city—specifically along old trade routes. We believe someone is trafficking Flow-related items through Bahari.”

Lyra’s brow furrowed.

“It’s unconfirmed,” Subira continued, “and the Order isn’t ready to act publicly. But we’ve identified a potential drop site along the cliffs east of Windy Ruins.”

Lyra frowned slightly. “And you want me to check it out?”

Subira nodded once. “If you’re willing. We need someone we can trust to go quietly.”

“Why me?” Lyra asked.

Subira’s gaze held steady. “You’re trusted. Capable. Discreet. You’ve assisted Jina before—and you know Bahari better than most.”

Lyra considered that. She didn’t like being drawn into something that felt too big, too official. But she understood the weight behind Subira’s request. This wasn’t a favor—it was a pivot point. The kind of choice that could open doors to things she’d rather leave closed.

“If it helps,” she said at last, “I’ll go.”

“We are happy to compensate you for your time,” Subira said gently.

“That’s not necessary,” Lyra replied. “I don’t help to get paid.”

“Just wanted to give you the option. Your help is appreciated.”

She pulled a small map from her satchel and unfolded it on the table. A red ‘X’ marked a curve of shoreline not far from the coral shores.

“There,” she said. “If there’s a package, don’t open it. Just bring it to me directly. Quietly.”

Lyra nodded once. “Understood.”

Later That Day – Bahari Bay

The wind blew sharp along the cliffs, the sea foaming far below as Lyra crouched near a tumble of wind-scoured rock. Kaja stood watch behind her, ears alert.

She found the package wedged beneath an outcrop, wrapped tightly in cloth and bound with cord. She didn’t touch the knots or try to guess at the contents. She simply took it and slipped it into her pack.

Evening – Kilima Inn

Subira opened the door before Lyra had to knock twice. Her face was unreadable, but her posture eased slightly when she saw the bundle tucked under Lyra’s arm.
“No trouble?” Subira asked.

“None.”

Lyra handed over the package without comment. Subira accepted it with care, slipping it quickly into her satchel.
“You didn’t look inside?”

“I was told not to.”

A moment of quiet passed between them.

“I’ll be in touch,” Subira said. “And thank you again.”

Lyra nodded. “Let’s just hope it’s not what you think it is.”

She turned toward the hallway and stepped out into the cool evening air. Somewhere nearby, Kaja waited in the shadows, tail flicking once as Lyra approached.

Home

The sun was beginning to retreat when Lyra opened the conservatory door and stepped into the soft lamplight within. The air held the faintest scent of smoke and pine from Hassian’s leathers hanging nearby. Kaja trotted in beside her, gave the plush Tau plushie in the corner a disinterested sniff, then curled into her favorite spot at the base of their bed.

Hassian looked up from where he sat—barefoot, in an armchair, sharpening one of his smaller knives near the open window. He smiled softly.
“Hello, beautiful.”

Lyra exhaled as if she'd been holding something in all day. “Hello, handsome.”

She didn’t even take off her boots before crossing to him. He set the knife aside as she dropped to her knees, pressing herself into his arms. Hassian wrapped her up without hesitation, burying his nose in her hair. She smelled like salt air and trail dust and something grounded he could never quite name but always missed when she was gone too long.

“No trouble?” he asked after a moment.

She shook her head. “None. I found the parcel. Didn’t open it. Just brought it back.”

“Kaja watched your back?”

“Of course she did.”

He ran a slow hand down her spine, his touch warm and steady, grounding her like the first deep breath after a long storm. “Feeling any better?”

Lyra hesitated. “A little. Not completely. It’s not danger exactly—it’s just… weight. Like I can see the edge of something coming, and it’s going to matter. To someone. Maybe to a lot of people. And I don’t know if I want to be part of that. It’s like stepping into a current I can’t swim against. I’d rather stay on the shore.” She swallowed. “But I said I’d help.”

Hassian nodded slowly, his voice low, steady. “Because it felt like the right thing.”

“I guess,” she murmured. “Or because I was the only one standing there.”

He pulled back just enough to see her face. “You don’t owe them anything, Lyra. You don’t owe the Order, or the past, or even the truth about what came before. You can walk away from it. You’re allowed.”

She gave him a small, tired smile. “But I won’t. Not yet.”

His gaze softened further, and he rested his forehead gently against hers. “Then I’ll be right here when you get back.”

She leaned in and kissed his jaw. “I know.”

Special Attention

The sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon when Lyra finally emerged from the bathroom, skin flushed from the heat of the shower and damp hair curling around her shoulders. She wore her favorite nightshirt—soft, worn, far too big for her—and when Hassian looked up from where he stood beside the bed, his breath caught.

She paused in the doorway, eyeing the room. The conservatory glowed with soft candlelight, dozens of tiny flames flickering atop the nearby shelf. He'd turned down the bed, folding back the blankets with care. A quiet invitation. "You lit candles?" she asked, brows lifting as she stepped inside.

He gave a half-shrug, half-smile. "Thought you'd like it."

Lyra crossed the room and touched his arm gently, searching his face. "What's this about?"

"Let me take care of you," he said simply. His voice was low, steady. Certain.

Her breath hitched.

He guided her to the bed—not urgently, not with the wild hunger they'd known before, but with a reverence that made her stomach flutter. He undressed her slowly, pausing to kiss each newly revealed inch of skin as if committing it to memory.

"You are beautiful," he murmured, tracing the curve of her spine with his hand.

She trembled beneath his touch, not from nerves, but from the way he looked at her. As if she were sacred.

The night unfolded in soft breaths and whispered words. Hassian moved with purpose, with devotion, with the heat of someone who knew her—her laughter, her grief, her stubborn streak, the way she always reached for him in her sleep.

He touched her like a man both worshipping and grounding himself, as if terrified to lose what he held.

And through it all, he said her name. Not absently. Not in passing.

Lyra.
Like a prayer. Like a vow.
His voice, rough with emotion, curled against her skin every time he whispered it.
Lyra, when her fingers gripped his shoulders.
Lyra, when her breath caught on a gasp.
Lyra, when his forehead touched hers.
Lyra, when their pulses thundered together.

As their breaths slowed, he drew her into his arms.

She tucked her face into his neck, lips brushing his collarbone.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"You're mine," he murmured. "No matter who you were before. No matter what comes next. You're mine now, always."

She nodded against him, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

"And you’re mine," she whispered back.

He exhaled softly, his thumb tracing her jaw. “You’re here.”

She lifted her gaze, voice steady and sure. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Outside, the stars burned bright.

And for the first time in days, Lyra slept without dreams.