They got home as the sun was sinking low, and the soft light spilling through the windows wrapped the kitchen in a quiet, golden hush.

Neither of them said much on the walk back. Their clothes were damp with marsh water, streaked with ogopuu slime. The stink was inescapable.

Lyra showered first. She didn’t take long—just enough to scrub the mess from her skin and twist her hair into a towel. Hassian followed after, quiet and efficient, and by the time he came back out, dinner was already on the table.

Nothing fancy. Just reheated stew and flatbread. Comfort food.

They ate in silence, seated at the dining table with the window cracked open and the sound of crickets creeping in.

When they finished, Hassian stood up, left the room—and returned a moment later holding a notepad and pen.

He set them gently in front of her.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “You can’t talk about it. Can you write about it?”

Lyra looked at him. Her throat felt tight, but she nodded.

She took the pen.

I went into the cave. It wasn't what I was expecting at all.
It looked lived in. By a person. There was a large nest—but there was also a bed, a table and chair, some books, some apples.
A letter addressed to T.
I brought it with me. I meant to give it to Subira but I forgot.
When I turned to leave, there was a pink haze. I couldn’t walk into it.
It was like hitting a wall.
But Tamala came walking through it, just fine.
She asked if I was following her. Said I was doing double work. That I was your pet, and Subira’s.
Said she was sure being your pet was more enjoyable. You know how to show a girl a good time.
She said if I had time, she needed a new pet and didn’t mind sharing.
Said it’s hard to find good ones. That she hasn’t had a good pet since you.
She said she let you go when you got clingy.
Started following her around like a lovesick puppy.
Said with Hassian he makes you feel like the prey he’s hunting.
Offered her your pin.
Begged her to marry you.
She said you get dramatic. Said she didn’t have time for that.
She asked if you told me how you met.
Said you were tracking prey, crossed into her woods.
Sold her a sernuk rug.
She asked you to her bedroom to figure out where to put it.
You didn’t leave 'til morning.
She said I was sweet and innocent-looking. Couldn’t believe I was your type.
Said you like to pin hands down and get rough.
Said she adored getting nailed by your young, hard body.
Said I look like the lovey-dovey type. All promises and stars.
But maybe looks can be deceiving.
I told her that’s real nice, but I’d like to leave now.
She said that wasn’t possible.
She cast a spell on me. I can only say good things about her.
She said—
“Let’s see if you love me enough to come find me.”
Said she hopes you come quickly, before the beast returns.
Said it would be devastating to you if you lost your momma and your fiancée to the same beast.
She left.
I remember everything she said. Memorized like a poem that touches your soul.

When Lyra was finished, she didn’t say a word.

She slid the paper across the table to him, then quietly placed her elbows on the edge, dropped her face into her hands—and she cried.

Not loud or broken. Just the slow, painful kind of crying that comes from somewhere too deep to explain. Her shoulders trembled once. Then again.

Hassian didn’t say anything at first. He slid his chair closer and put one hand in her hair, cupping the back of her head with gentle fingers.

With the other, he picked up the notepad.

And he read.

Every line. Every awful word. Every dagger Tamala had twisted into the woman he loves.

One line in particular made him flinch—with Hassian he makes you feel like the prey he’s hunting.

His chest tightened. That part of him—the one that claimed her, that obsessively marked her as his—was there, undeniable, raw. Seeing it named by someone else made his stomach twist.

He inhaled sharply, just for a fraction of a second, then pressed closer. His hand tightened ever so slightly against her head. Possessive, protective, fervent. She was his. No one else’s.

When he finished, he set the notepad down with trembling control, leaned in, and pressed his forehead to the side of her bowed head, his mouth right next to her ear.

“You did everything right,” he murmured, voice low and shaken. “Everything. You kept your head. You came back to me. You’re here.”

She gave a shaky exhale against her hands.

He pulled her gently from her seat and into his lap, letting her bury her face in his shoulder. His arms came around her like a wall.

He held her like that for a long time, until her breathing evened out again.

“You heard her version,” he said quietly. “Now I’ll tell you mine. If you want to hear it.”

Lyra didn’t speak, but she nodded, gaze locked on his.

He exhaled through his nose. “That rug? Yeah. She bought one. I delivered it. She flirted—I didn’t take it seriously. Not at first.”

His voice dropped.

“But she doesn’t like to be ignored. She wanted to see if she could get in my head—and she did. She knows how to twist things. How to say just enough truth to make her lies believable.”

He looked at her then, eyes steady. “I did not offer her my pin. She didn’t want it. She didn’t want anything real. She wanted control. And yeah, she got it—for a while.”

There was a pause.

“But you—you’re the only one I’ve asked to marry me. No one else. You're the one I’m going to marry.”

His hands slid a little higher, just to hold her closer.

“I told you once I never wanted you in her orbit. That wasn’t about hiding anything from you. That was me being scared of something like this. She plays with minds with no remorse. To be honest with you…” he swallowed, jaw tight, “I don’t know if everything between me and her was ever really my choice. Sometimes I wonder if she made me think I wanted her.”

“She said things to hurt you. About what I like. About how I am. But what we have? What I share with you—that’s nothing like that.”

He looked up again, voice low but firm.

“With you, it’s not about control. It’s not about power. It’s about bonding. Trust. Love.” His hand gently cupped her knee. “You’ve never had to ask for tenderness from me. It just happens, because it’s you. Because I can’t imagine being any other way with you.”

He gave a small, breathless laugh. “And for what it’s worth? I’ve never been more satisfied in my life than when I’m with you. Not even close. I adore how we share our bodies. How we show our love.”

Another beat passed. Then:
“You are the love of my life, Lyra. And I will never feel this way about anyone else. I’ll never feel as close to anyone else as I feel to you.”

Lyra didn’t speak right away. She just looked at him. Really looked. Her expression was soft but steady—unshaken. Then she spoke.

“In the beginning, I was jealous about you being with someone else, even if it was over. I just didn't like the idea of you having that kind of closeness with someone else,” she said quietly. “It bugged me. A lot. I was afraid someday you’d want her back. Choose her over me. She is Majiri like you, and I’m a human.”

Hassian shook his head, and Lyra reached out, brushing her fingers along his jaw.

“But now? It doesn’t bother me anymore. You did what you did with her then… but you’ve changed your entire life for me. You’ve given me all of you. You choose to give me all of you—every single day.”

Her thumb traced his cheekbone.

“I’ve watched you grow so much, Hassian. The kind of growth that only comes from love. Real love.”

She smiled a little, eyes shining.

“I feel your love for me. I have no doubt of it. That’s how I was able to stand there and take all of that yesterday. Your love was my strength.”

There was a beat of quiet.

“Can we just… stay home together tomorrow? No Order business. No hunting. No forge. Just us. You and me. And Tau and Kaja. I need a day.”

Hassian didn’t hesitate. His voice was soft but sure.

“Absolutely, baby. I’ll run interference. Do whatever needs to be done. You can take as long as you want.”

He kissed her palm.
“I’d like that too.”

“And I want you to sleep. Don’t think it’s gone unnoticed that you haven’t been sleeping,” Lyra ordered.

“Yes, boss. As long as I can feel you next to me.”

She reached for his arm, brushing her fingers over the ink just below his Majiri symbol tattoo. Her name. A heartdrop lily beside it, drawn in bold, graceful lines that looked like they’d always belonged there.

“I do love this,” she said, voice quieter now. “You never said much about getting it.”

Hassian shrugged, but the tip of his ear flushed. “Didn’t think I needed to. You know what it means.”

“Yeah,” she said, her smile turning soft. “But I want ot hear it anyway.”

He looked at her then, eyes steady and warm.

“It means you’re permanent. Not just part of my life. You are my life.”

They sat for a few minutes. Lyra studied him. He looked tired—more than tired—but he didn’t move, not until Lyra stood and gently reached for his hand.

“Come to bed,” she said softly.

His gaze lifted to meet hers, and without a word, he rose, fingers threading through hers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Restless

They moved through the house together, quiet as breath, until they reached the conservatory. The glass above was dark now, stars hidden behind drifting clouds. Lyra drew back the covers, and they both slipped beneath, the blankets cool against their skin until warmth settled between them.

She curled into his side, cheek resting on his chest where his heartbeat thudded slow and steady. His arm folded around her protectively, pulling her close.

A soft kiss landed on her hair. Then another on her forehead. Fingers gently trailed along her arm.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, so low she might have missed it if she hadn’t been listening for exactly that.

She smiled against his skin, breath steadying.

He pressed one more kiss into her hair and murmured, “You’re here.”

She tilted her head just enough to look up at him and answered, sleepy but certain, “I’m not going anywhere.”

And that was it.

They didn’t speak after that. Just lay in the hush, sharing the silence, the blankets, the breath between them. Every now and then, one of them would shift to plant another kiss—a temple, a nose, a shoulder. There were no expectations left between them tonight, only the profound relief of being together.

Sleep found them slowly, then all at once. Deep, dreamless, and long overdue.