The last of the breakfast dishes were still drying by the sink, sunlight pooling through the kitchen windows in warm patches.

Tau and Kaja were already waiting by the front door, tails wagging in lazy arcs—hopeful for a walk. Hassian gave Lyra a quick glance, then reached for the door handle.

He opened it to find Subira standing on the front steps.

He didn’t speak, didn’t move much—just stepped slightly aside so Tau and Kaja wouldn’t block the entrance. Subira stood on the front steps, a little windblown but otherwise composed.

“Is Lyra home?” she asked.

“I am,” Lyra said, walking in from the kitchen, where she’d just finished cleaning up the breakfast dishes.

Subira inclined her head politely. “May I come in?”

Lyra nodded and gestured toward the chairs. “Of course. Have a seat.”

Subira stepped inside just far enough to avoid crowding the doorframe. Her eyes darted toward Hassian, who was still standing with the dogs at his side.

“I’ll take them out,” he said quietly to Lyra, giving her a faint glance before heading down the steps.

The door clicked softly shut behind him, leaving the room quiet.

Subira settled into a chair, her hands folding in her lap. She looked less formal than usual—no cloak, no satchel, no visible badge of authority. Just her, plainly dressed, and tired around the eyes.

“I wanted to apologize,” she said after a moment. “For the way I reacted last time. I was surprised… and I needed time to think.”

“I understand,” Lyra said gently.

Subira met her gaze. “I need this conversation to stay between us. Right now, you’re the only person I feel I can trust.”

Lyra nodded once. “Alright.”

“The letter you found in the lighthouse carried the seal of the Order,” Subira said, voice low and serious. “And I believe someone inside the organization is supplying the cartel with Flow.”

Lyra didn’t react outwardly, just listened.

“I have reason to think Flow drops are happening in different parts of Bahari,” Subira continued. “But without knowing the locations or timing—or even who’s involved—it’s impossible to act. Until I have more information, I’m stuck.”
She paused, as if weighing whether to say more. But then she stopped herself.

“I can ask around,” Lyra said. “See if anyone’s heard anything that might help.”

Subira looked relieved.

Lyra added, tone firm, “If I find information, I’ll share that with you—but I won’t share my source.”

“I understand,” Subira said. “That’s more than I can ask for.”

There was a small beat of silence. Subira looked toward the door, then back at Lyra. “I get the sense your fiancé doesn’t care for me.”

Lyra smiled faintly. “Hassian greatly respects the Order and your position. But he doesn’t like me being put in danger. That’s all it is.”

Subira gave a short, almost amused exhale. “Understandable.”

She stood. “Thank you again, Lyra.”

Lyra walked her to the door but didn’t say anything more. The moment didn’t need filling.

Subira stepped out into the sun, pausing only long enough to glance back over her shoulder. Then she was gone, leaving the quiet behind.

Secrets?

Hassian sat by the river beside the house, a quiet stretch of shade where the breeze moved low through the reeds. Tau lay curled beside Hassian’s boot, and Kaja snored softly in the grass, her tongue flopped sideways.

Lyra walked over and sank down beside him. Her voice was quiet. “This whole thing is turning into a big mess. Like I knew it would.”

Hassian rubbed a hand over her back. “Want to talk about it?”

She nodded. “Subira said I’m the only one she can trust right now. The letter I brought her—she said it had the Order’s seal on it. She didn’t tell me what it said, but… now she thinks someone from the Order is supplying Flow to the Cartel. She believes deliveries are happening in Bahari, but the investigation’s stuck. No way to know where, when, or who.”

He glanced at her sidelong. “And you told her you’d find out.”

“I told her I’d ask around,” Lyra said. “See if I could get a lead.”

Hassian studied her, jaw tightening slightly, a slow blink. “Why am I getting the feeling you already know something?”

Lyra hesitated. “Because I do.”

“Do I get to know too?”

“Of course.” She hesitated, hands fidgeting slightly. “Some time back, Reth asked for a favor. He needed me to pick up a package hidden near the forest in Bahari and leave it in his storeroom at the Inn. So I did. But when I got there, he was waiting. He told me it was a delivery from the Cartel—and that he’s been doing it for a while, for Zeki.”

She paused. “The reason? Flow. Tish is sick. Dying. The only thing keeping her alive is Flow—and Reth’s been hiding it in a hair clip she wears. She doesn’t even know.”

Hassian blinked slowly again, face unreadable. “He just told you all this?”

“He didn’t really have anyone else,” Lyra said. “I think he was scared. And the package I picked up… it was Flow. For Tish. But I had no idea at the time. I just thought I was doing a favor for a friend. A friend who helped me with cooking lessons.”

Hassian’s voice darkened slightly. “I was under the impression that Reth flirting with you and teaching you to sauté mushrooms was the full extent of your history.”

“It was,” Lyra said. “Aside from this—and I didn’t even know what I was helping him with. And the cooking lessons were just that. I mean… I felt I owed him for those.”

He looked at her then, jaw tight. “They weren’t just lessons, fists clenching almost imperceptibly. He wanted you. That was obvious to everyone.”

“I figured that out pretty early on. He asked me out. I turned him down.” Her voice softened. “I was only ever interested in you. You were the main reason I wanted to learn to cook. Back then, all I had was bringing food to someone who barely looked at me. I just wanted you to notice me.”

There was a silence between them.

“I just want it to be clear, this was before I ever knew I’d have a chance with you,” she added.

Hassian’s voice was low. “And now you’re asking around. Meaning… you plan to go back to Reth?”

“I thought he might know something. Something that could help. I didn’t think it would hurt to ask.”

He scoffed quietly. “You think a guy like that just hands over information without expecting something in return?”

“I’m not planning to sleep with him in exchange for information, if that’s what you’re implying.”

That did it. Hassian stood, brushed his hands on his pants, and walked toward the house without a word. Tau followed, ears low, sensing the heaviness in his stride.

Lyra stayed by the river.

She stared out at the water, scolding herself.
Why did I say that? The remark about Reth had been unnecessary. Cruel, even. She knew how much that would cut.

And the jab about him not noticing her? That had been petty. They’d talked about all that already—he had his reasons back then, and she’d accepted them. Or thought she had.

This was the first time in all the months they’d been together that there was real tension between them. Not teasing or misunderstandings—this was different. Heavy.

She debated going after him, heart hammering, stomach twisting. But something in her told her to give him space. Just this once.

Hassian walked to the Garden.

He didn’t want to be angry—but that didn’t stop the heat in his chest, the twisting knot behind his ribs.

So Reth had been in deeper than he thought. Flow deliveries, secrets, cartel ties. He could stomach that.

What hit him harder was the idea that Reth had trusted Lyra with all of it. And Lyra… had gone along, even unknowingly. She’d kept it to herself. She’d let Reth talk to her like that, lean on her.
And worse—he’d gotten her attention back when Hassian himself was still trying to figure out why he cared so damn much.

Bringing food to someone who barely looked at me.
That stung more than he expected. Maybe because it was true. She had chased him. Waited for scraps. And someone else, someone like Reth, had seen it—had known it was safe to slip into that space.

He hated that he hadn’t seen it then. Hated that she had felt alone in it.

And yet… that fierce protectiveness that always surged when it came to Lyra—it was still there, stronger than ever.

She was his. His partner, his bond. And right now, he didn’t want anyone else’s shadow hanging over what they were building.

Not Reth. Not Tamala. Not the past.

Can’t Stay Apart

Hours passed in silence, punctuated only by distant birdsong and the occasional rustle of leaves. Each sound seemed louder than usual, echoing the tension that stretched between them.

Lyra stood just outside the front door, barefoot, arms crossed, a thousand thoughts written in the curve of her shoulders. They had spent the day apart, Hassian working in the garden, Lyra cleaning the house…cooking. But she knew he was there and he knew she was there. Hassian slowed his stride as he approached, uncertain for the first time all day—not about her, never about her—but about what to say.

She turned before he spoke.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

He stopped at the base of the steps. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I do.” Her gaze lifted. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you and I shouldn’t have considered talking to Reth. I know how you feel about him.” She hesitated. “I was just trying to help Subira.”

Hassian exhaled, slow and sharp. “I think I over reacted. ”

The tension between them trembled like something alive. Then, before he could think better of it, he climbed the last few steps and reached for her.

Lyra came into his arms like she belonged there, her face burying into the warm crook of his neck. His hand slid into her hair, the other anchored at her back. He held her for a long time.

“I don’t like it,” he murmured. “Not Reth. Not Flow. Not anything that puts you near it.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him. “I don’t like it either. But I love you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

That was all it took. Hassian’s restraint cracked like bark in flame.

He kissed her. Hard. Desperate. Months of softness gone in a flash of fire. Lyra’s fingers dug in his shirt, yanking him closer until there was nothing but heat and contact and ragged breath. He guided her backward through the door and kicked it shut behind them, lips never leaving hers.

“The Conservatory,” she whispered.

“No,” he growled. “Here.”

He backed her into the bedroom, kissing her like he was starved. His mouth trailed down her neck, claiming skin with a scrape of teeth, a drag of lips. Lyra gasped, clung to him as he backed her against the wall. He was already tugging her dress up, fingers sliding beneath the hem with rough reverence.

Her breath hitched as his hands met bare skin.

“Hassian—”

“Say it,” he rasped against her throat. “Say you’re mine.”
She tried to nod, but he caught her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. The jade in them blazed.
His forehead pressed to hers. “You’re mine,” he growled. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” she gasped, hips rising to meet him. “I’ve always been yours.”

A low sound tore from him—less a groan than a prayer, desperate and devout. His hands lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her back pressed firm to the wall as his body pinned her in place.

She clutched at his shoulders, her fingers slipping beneath the edge of his shirt, needing more—needing him. He moved with maddening control, grinding against her until her breath shattered.

“Please,” she whispered.

His mouth brushed her ear. “Tell me what you need.”

“You.”

“You have me,” he swore. “All of me.”

Then there was no more talking. Only motion and heat and rhythm. The ache of restraint breaking. The sacred space where apology became devotion. The bedroom lit dimly behind them, shadows flickering as he moved inside her like he belonged there. Like this was his place. His home.
And it was.

Lyra held him like she’d never let go. Kissed him like she didn’t care about anything else. And Hassian—Hassian held her like she was the only real thing left in the world.

The Nest

Later—after they’d collapsed breathless and flushed on the wooden floor, half-laughing, half-clinging—they made their way to the conservatory.

The night air was warm, heavy with summer. Crickets sang. The stars were sharp above them, constellations carved in crystal. Lyra padded barefoot across the grass, his shirt thrown over her like a blanket. Hassian followed behind, one hand at her back, his touch grounding.

She glanced over her shoulder. “You still mad at me?”

His eyes glinted. “Wasn’t mad. Just… stupidly in love and worried about losing you.”

Lyra stopped, blinking. “Wait, worried? Did you think I was actually going to run off with Reth?”

“Not run off.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Just… drift. Decide you want something easier. Something less—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” she said, turning fully toward him. “You’re not hard. You’re everything. And I chose you. Every day, I choose you.”

He pulled her into his arms, kissed her forehead, and quietly said, “I know.”

They stepped inside the conservatory. The moonlight filtered through the glass in soft ribbons. Their blankets were still rumpled from the night before, a pile of quilts and half-read books tucked against the far wall. Tau’s plushie had been knocked onto the floor.

Lyra giggled and picked it up, placing it gently in a chair. “Sorry, buddy.”

Hassian smirked behind her. “Pretty sure he’s seen worse.”

She turned toward him slowly, her smile soft but a little weary. “I never want to argue with you again,” she whispered.

His thumb brushed her cheek. “Then we won’t,” he said quietly. “Not like that.”

This time, when they came together, it wasn’t rough or rushed. It was slow. Intentional. Worshipful.

They finished undressing each other in the soft glow of moonlight, fingertips dragging over skin like it was sacred. When he kissed her, it was different—still hungry, but tempered with awe. Like he was discovering her all over again. They sank into the blankets, bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. She arched into his touch, every brush of his hands coaxing sighs from her lips. He took his time, mapping her curves with reverence, tracing constellations down her spine with his mouth.

“I missed you,” she whispered as he settled between her legs.

“I never left,” he murmured back.

Their bodies moved in tandem, a rhythm found and remembered, over and over again. Her fingers slid into his hair, her lips brushing his jaw. She whispered soft things—how much she loved him, how safe he made her feel, how she could never be without him.

And then, just when the moment swelled and held—when she was breathless and wrapped around him like a prayer—he pressed his forehead to hers.

“I love you,” he said.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t theatrical. It was quiet and raw, the words trembling just beneath his breath.

Lyra’s eyes fluttered open. She stared at him like he’d just said the sky belonged to her.

“I love you too,” she whispered. “So much.”

He kissed her like a vow. Moved inside her like he meant every syllable. When she came undone, it was with his name on her lips, and his hand clutching hers like he couldn’t bear to let go.

After, they stayed tangled together in the heat and quiet, her head tucked beneath his chin, his fingers drawing lazy circles along her back.

No more apologies. No more distance. Just the stillness of two people who had found their way back to one another.

The stars above burned bright.
And this time, he didn’t doubt it—he was exactly where he was meant to be.

In Darkness

He watched her drift to sleep, one hand curled loosely in the sheets between them. She always gave everything—love, trust, forgiveness, herself. And she never asked for anything more than he could give. But he wanted to give her everything.

He reached over, brushing her hair from her temple, lips barely grazing her skin. “Mine,” he whispered again, just for himself.

Tea and a Poem

Lyra blinked awake realizing she was alone—Hassian must’ve gone in early to make tea She told herself to stifle an urge to panic. She stretched beneath the blanket, the ache between her hips a tender echo of last night, she smiled to herself.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open. Hassian ducked inside, carrying two steaming mugs and a folded scrap of parchment. He set the cups down, then hesitated—clearly trying to decide whether to hand it to her or pretend it didn’t exist.

She sat up. “What’s that?”

He cleared his throat, still holding it awkwardly in his hand. “Something I wrote yesterday. When we weren’t speaking.” A pause. “You don’t have to read it. It’s just…”

Her hand reached out, palm up.

He gave it over without a word, then sat on the edge of the bed, eyes on the floor, the nape of his neck flushed pink.

She unfolded the parchment and read it once. Then again.

"Nest"

I built the fire
but the warmth went out of it.
Your absence wasn’t loud—
just heavy.
Like air right before a storm.
Like the hush in the trees
when no bird dares sing.

I sat in the Grove
and didn’t light the lantern.
You weren’t there to see it.
What good was it, then?

I thought I could live on silence—
that quiet was my comfort.
But you’ve ruined that, girl.
Now every stillness
feels like missing you.

You made me a nest.
I didn’t know I needed
until I wanted to crawl into it.
Back to the heat of your skin,
the scent of your hair,
the sound of your voice
telling me
I’m not too much to be loved.

You’re mine.
But I’m yours, too.
Even when I forget how to say it.
—H

Her breath caught on the last lines.

You’re mine.
But I’m yours, too.
Even when I forget how to say it.

She didn’t say anything—not with words. She simply placed the poem on the nightstand, climbed into his lap, and wrapped her arms around him.

Hassian leaned into her, forehead against her shoulder. His hands gripped her back like he needed proof she was still real.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His voice was hoarse. “I know.”

She pulled back, just enough to look at him. “Tell me anyway.”

He cupped her face in both hands, thumbs brushing her cheekbones like she might disappear if he didn’t hold on. “I love you, Lyra. So much it scares me.”

“Good,” she whispered. “It scares me, too.”

Then she kissed him. Slow. Sure. And there, in the warm hush of their Nest, they found each other all over again.