In another year, everything had settled… at least in the way storms 'settled' when the sky stopped throwing lightning but the air still tasted like metal.
Dax lost his patience once… publicly.
It happened in a room full of polished diplomacy and carefully chosen titles, with Caelan sitting on his own authority like it was unmovable, and Chris standing just a fraction too still beside him, because he'd learned that the only safe way to exist around emperors was to become unreadable.
Caelan said something. Caelan's preferred form of cruelty was always delivered in a tone that suggested everyone should accept it as normal.
And Chris… Chris didn't react.
He didn't flinch, didn't snap, and didn't give Caelan the satisfaction of visible emotion.
But Dax felt it through the bond anyway, that tiny spike of stress under Chris's ribs, the sharp inhale that never made it to the face. The kind of invisible damage that built up over months until it became a crack.
Dax stood.
