The light in the conservatory changed as the sun rose higher, spilling through the arched glass in warm, golden stripes.

Lyra hadn’t moved much since dawn. She lay curled under a light blanket on the bed, still in one of Hassian’s shirts, her hair a sleepy tangle around her face. Tau was snuggled up along her spine, Kaja tucked into the crook of her knees. They both seemed to understand this wasn’t a normal morning.

And so did Hassian.

He didn’t speak much to her. Not yet. He knew how to wait. He understood wounds, visible and not. She was quiet—but not shut down. She took the tea he made. She flipped through the book he brought her, even if she didn’t really read it. She accepted his presence. That was enough for now.

Outside, the garden needed tending, so he moved silently through it—barefoot, shirtless, the way he always preferred when the day was hot. His mind ticked like a hunter’s: eyes on the ground, but senses attuned behind him. Every rustle inside made him glance toward the conservatory.

When someone knocked at the front door, he wiped his hands on a cloth and stepped out quickly, closing the door behind him. Subira stood on the porch, looking tired but hopeful.

"I just wanted to check on her," she said. "See how she’s holding up."

Hassian crossed his arms.

"Not today," he said gently. "She’s resting. You want to help? Let her have her peace."

Subira hesitated, then nodded. "Of course. If she needs anything—"

"I’ll come find you."

He was back inside before the tea cooled.

Later, Saraya and Lexi came. Their knock was more of a we brought snacks and gossip kind of knock. Hassian met them at the edge of the front steps before they even stepped up.

"Hey," Saraya said. "Is Lyra okay? She was weird yesterday. Not like… her."

"Yeah," Lexi chimed in, frowning. "She didn’t even make fun of Simon’s hat. I got worried."

"She’s fine," Hassian said. "She just needs quiet."

"Did something happen?" Saraya asked. "She seemed off."

He paused, then shook his head. "No. Nothing you need to worry about."

Lexi narrowed her eyes. "So something did happen. Did you two fight?"

"No." His answer was quick, steady.

Her frown deepened. "You didn’t break her heart, did you? Because if the wedding’s off, I—"

"The wedding is not off," Hassian interrupted, his tone firm but even. "We are fine. She just needs time. That’s all."

Saraya studied him, reading his expression the way only a close friend could. Finally, she touched Lexi’s arm. "Alright. We’ll let her be. Tell her we stopped by."

Lexi huffed but didn’t push further, though her eyes lingered on him like she still wasn’t satisfied.

He didn’t move until they were down the path and out of sight. Only then did he let out the breath he’d been holding.

Communicating

By evening, Lyra had finally moved to the outside dining table, though she was still quiet. She sat watching Kaja play with lantern bugs as she sipped slowly from her second cup of tea, watching sunlight drift across the glass panels.

Hassian was quietly grilling steaks for dinner, the scent of smoke and spice drifting between them.

When she finally spoke, her voice was rough.

"You mad at me?"

He looked up from the grill.

"No," he said without hesitation. "Not mad. Not even close."

She looked down into her tea.

"I was stupid."

He shook his head and walked over, crouching in front of her so they were eye to eye.

"You were brave. Too brave, maybe. But you were trying to protect people. That’s never stupid."

She gave him a doubtful look, lips pressed together.

"You made a mistake," he went on. "You paid for it. You learned from it. That’s more than most people ever do."

She didn’t respond, but her eyes were softer now, less shadowed. He reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek, his touch gentle.

"You’ve come so far, Lyra, and you’re so brave, baby. You hunt like it was written into your bones. You think I’d run with just anyone out there? I’ve only ever hunted with my moms’. But I’d hunt with you any day, and I’d trust you to have my back."

Her eyes filled then, but she didn’t look away.

"I don’t feel brave right now," she whispered.

"You don’t have to feel it for it to be true," he murmured. "That’s the thing about being brave—it shows up whether you want it to or not."

Lyra’s throat tightened. She looked down at her hands, then back at him.

"I just… I don’t want to disappoint you."

His jaw flexed, and he shook his head. "You couldn’t. Not you. Not ever."

Silence stretched between them, warm and heavy, broken only by the hum of bugs and the soft crackle from the grill. Finally, Hassian asked, low and careful:
"You still hear her voice?"

She hesitated. Then nodded.
"Sometimes," she whispered.

He leaned forward, touching his forehead to hers.

"I hope mine’s louder."

Her eyes fluttered closed.
"It is."

He pressed a brief kiss to her forehead before standing again. The grill hissed as he turned the steaks, the savory scent carrying across the warm evening air.

"Come on," he said softly. "Eat with me."

She shook her head a little. "I’m not really hungry."

"Doesn’t matter," he replied. "You don’t need to be hungry. You just need to eat a little. For me."

The way he said it—steady, gentle, but edged with that quiet firmness of his—made her sigh. She uncurled from the blanket and let him guide her to sit straighter in the chair. He slid a plate in front of her a few minutes later: grilled sernuk steak, fried potatoes crisped at the edges, honey-glazed carrots. He’d even buttered a slice of bread and sprinkled herbs across it.

"You made all this?" she asked, a touch of surprise in her tired voice.

He shrugged, setting down his own plate across from her. "You cook for me every day. I can handle one meal."

She smiled faintly, picking up her fork. "Show-off."

"Only for you," he said matter-of-fact, then started cutting into his steak.

At first she only picked small bites here and there, but his steady presence across from her—quiet, unhurried—seemed to ground her. He didn’t press. He just ate with her, occasionally reaching over to refill her tea, or brushing his fingers over her hand when she let it rest on the table.

By the time the sun dipped lower, her plate was nearly clean. She hadn’t even realized she’d been eating that much until Hassian leaned back in his chair, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Told you," he murmured.

She rolled her eyes, but there was warmth in it. "You’re insufferable sometimes."

"Maybe," he said, standing to clear their plates, "but you’re fed, and that’s what matters."

When he returned, instead of taking his seat again, he bent over her chair and pressed a kiss into her hair. "Stay here. I’ll get the lights going."

As he moved to light the lanterns strung along the conservatory path, Lyra leaned back in her chair, the heaviness in her chest easing at last. For the first time all day, she felt something close to peace.

Connecting

By the time the lanterns glowed and the garden had gone quiet, Lyra drifted back toward the conservatory. She slipped inside and curled onto the bed, the blanket slipping around her shoulders. The day had left her emptied, but Hassian’s quiet care had begun to fill her again, piece by piece.

When he joined her, he didn’t say anything at first. He stretched out beside her, one arm pulling her against his chest, his lips pressing into her temple. His hand skimmed slowly down her side, not rushed, just claiming. "You feel good in my arms," he murmured.

She tipped her head back to look at him, her eyes softer now, though still touched with that shadow from earlier. "You’re spoiling me tonight."

He gave a low, quiet laugh. "That’s the point." His mouth found hers then, slow but insistent, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she opened to him.

The kiss deepened, and she gasped softly when his hand slid under her shirt, fingers trailing across her stomach. He kissed lower, down her jaw, her throat, her collarbone, until she shivered. He pulled the shirt up over her head and tossed it aside.

"You’re beautiful," he whispered against her skin, his breath warm as he kissed a path lower, over the curve of her breast, the softness of her belly. Then further still, until his shoulders settled between her thighs.

Her breath caught, fingers tangling in his hair as his mouth found her. Heat surged through her, sharp and dizzying. She whimpered, her hips tilting toward him.

"Hassian—" Her voice broke on his name.

"That’s it," he murmured against her, his hand steadying her hip. "Just let me take care of you."

Her cries came softer at first, then sharper, until she shattered against him, clinging tight as the world blurred.

He kissed his way back up her body, slow and reverent, until he hovered over her. Her chest still rose and fell in trembling breaths, and he brushed his lips over hers.

"You’re mine," he said quietly, voice roughened with want. "You belong with me, always."

She answered him with a kiss that turned hungry, pulling him closer. He slipped free of his trousers and pressed into her slowly, inch by inch, until she gasped and arched beneath him.

"Stars, Lyra, you make me feel so good," he groaned, burying his face in her neck. “Only you can make me feel like this.”

Her legs wrapped around him, drawing him deeper. "Don’t stop," she whispered, clutching at his shoulders. "I need you, hunter."

He moved with her, deep and steady, every thrust deliberate, every kiss searing. The conservatory filled with the sound of their ragged breaths, the creak of the bed, her quiet cries muffled against his mouth.

"You’re so hot, Lyra," he whispered against her lips. "So perfect. All mine."

And when she came again, shuddering around him, he followed with a rough groan, clutching her as if he could fuse them together.

After, their bodies pressed close, their breaths evening out slowly. He kissed her temple, his voice softer now, almost a prayer.

"You’re here."

Her lips curved faintly against his chest. "I’m not going anywhere."

Above them, the stars burned bright through the glass, and Hassian believed with everything he had, he was exactly where he was meant to be.