The palace terrace stretched beneath a pale sky, washed in the golden clarity of late summer. From this height, the gardens rippled down the hillside like green silk, and beyond them, the city shimmered in soft heat haze.
Dax sat across from him, posture perfect even in leisure, the sunlight striking threads of silver through his pale hair. His black shirt was open at the collar, the faint gold embroidery at the cuffs catching when he moved.
Chris, by contrast, looked achingly human. He'd dressed comfortably in a loose ivory shirt, sleeves rolled high, and dark trousers that hung just right. His hair, still damp from the shower, curled slightly at his temples.
The table between them was gleaming with quiet wealth: porcelain, gold-rimmed cups, and a bowl of fresh fruit that had been forgotten. It could have been peace. It wasn't.
Dax leaned back slightly, violet eyes fixed on Chris with the kind of patience that didn't last forever.
"You're quiet," he said.
