Morning arrived without ceremony.
Light crept into the temple in thin, colorless strands, slipping through the narrow openings high above and settling across the stone floor. It revealed dust more than warmth, and the air remained cool, unmoved by the promise of day. The temple never fully woke. It simply acknowledged time passing.
The stone beneath Leira's back was cold when she stirred, the chill seeping through fabric and skin alike.
Her fingers flexed against the rough stone, toes curling instinctively as the chill crept up her legs. She could feel her pulse in her ears, slow but steady, and beneath it all, the Veil hummed faintly, a subtle vibration brushing against her spine like a whisper.
For a long moment, she stayed where she was, staring up at the ceiling carved with symbols older than memory. The lines seemed to shift when she blinked, not moving, exactly, but existing in that familiar way the Veil always did half perceived, half felt.
She listened.
Stone held sound differently here. Every shift of air felt deliberate, every distant echo measured. Somewhere deeper in the temple, water dripped in a slow, patient rhythm. Beneath her skin, the Veil rested in a quiet, steady state. No warnings. No pull. Just presence.
That alone made her wary.
She sat up and drew a breath, steadying herself before standing. Her boots were where she had left them, side by side, dusted faintly with pale stone powder. Everything was as it should be.
Except she could already feel it.
Something was off.
She stepped into the main hall.
Kael was there, near the long stone table, fastening the leather strap of his bracer. His movements were precise, controlled, familiar in the way repeated habits always were. He stood tall, shoulders squared, every line of him alert even at rest. The faint scrape of leather against metal echoed softly as he worked.
He looked the same as always.
But when he turned at the sound of her footsteps, she noticed it immediately.
His smile did not reach his eyes.
"Morning," he said.
The word landed evenly, practiced.
"Morning," she replied.
He looked her over briefly, checking without staring, her posture, her expression, the way she carried herself. Then his gaze shifted away, returning to the strap. The distance was subtle, but unmistakable. He wasn't standing far away. He wasn't avoiding her.
But the warmth that usually threaded through his presence was muted, like something carefully held back.
"Did you sleep?" he asked.
"A little," she said. "You?"
"Enough."
That was new.
She studied the lines of his jaw, the way his shoulders held a tightness she didn't remember from other mornings. Even the tilt of his head carried restraint, a careful control she could almost feel pressing against the air between them.
Kael normally teased her about rest, about pushing herself too hard, about how she refused to stop until her body forced her to. This morning, his tone was even. Neutral.
She watched him for another second, studying the familiar set of his shoulders, the way his jaw tightened just slightly when he pulled the strap too hard.
"You're uncomfortable."
His hands paused.
He didn't deny it.
Instead, he finished securing the strap and straightened, exhaling through his nose. "I told myself I'd feel better about it by now."
"About us working together?" she asked.
"Yes," he said plainly. "About him being here."
The words carried no venom. Just truth.
She nodded slowly. "That's fair."
He met her gaze then, something conflicted flickering there. "I don't want you thinking this changes anything. I'm not angry at you."
"I know," she said. "But you're not okay either."
Kael gave a faint, humorless huff. "I don't like sharing space with someone who nearly destroyed you."
"I understand that," she said gently.
He studied her face, searching for something, certainty, reassurance, maybe permission to feel what he felt without being judged for it. "Do you?"
"Yes," she said without hesitation. "And I don't expect you to be comfortable with it overnight. I wouldn't be."
That seemed to ease something in him. Just a little. Like a knot loosening, though not untying completely.
"I'll adjust," he said. "I always do."
She reached out, resting her hand briefly against his forearm. Not clinging. Just grounding. She felt the tension beneath his skin, the restrained energy he carried even now.
"I don't need you to adjust," she said softly. "I just need you honest."
His shoulders loosened a fraction. "Then I'll give you that."
Footsteps sounded from the far corridor.
Cassian appeared at the edge of the hall, pausing when he saw them together. He didn't interrupt. Didn't comment. He lingered just inside the threshold, posture careful, like someone waiting to be acknowledged, or dismissed.
The morning light caught the edge of his face, carving shadows beneath his eyes, revealing the exhaustion he hadn't bothered to hide. His movements were deliberate, slow, and every slight motion seemed measured against her gaze. She noticed the faint tremor in his hands and the subtle twitch of a lip that suggested he was fighting restraint, and for the first time, she wondered what battle ran beneath the calm exterior.
He looked like someone who hadn't slept because sleep hadn't wanted him.
"Morning," he said after a beat.
Kael's gaze sharpened slightly. "You're awake early."
Cassian shrugged. "Didn't sleep much."
"Imagine that," Kael replied.
The edge was there, but it was controlled. Not hostile. Guarded.
Leira glanced between them. Cassian caught her look and lifted his hands faintly in surrender, palms open, deliberately nonthreatening.
"I can leave," he said. "If that makes this easier."
Kael considered him. "It won't."
Cassian nodded once. "Then I'll stay quiet."
He moved toward one of the columns and leaned against it, deliberately keeping his distance. Leira noticed the effort it took him not to look at her too long, the way his gaze flickered and then steadied elsewhere.
Kael noticed that she noticed.
The tension settled into the room like a held breath, not explosive, not volatile, just present. Heavy in a way that made every movement feel intentional.
Kael turned back to her. "We'll need to talk later. About next steps."
"I know," she said.
He hesitated, then added more quietly, "And about… boundaries."
She met his eyes. "Whenever you're ready."
That seemed to satisfy him, at least for now.
Cassian watched the exchange from where he stood, expression unreadable. When Leira finally looked his way, he gave her a faint, almost cautious smile.
"Looks like I survived the night," he said lightly.
"Barely," Kael replied.
Cassian's smile sharpened, but he didn't push. "Progress."
Leira shook her head, lips twitching despite herself.
Morning settled fully into the temple then, carrying with it the uneasy understanding that whatever came next would not be simple.
But for now, they were standing.
Together.
And that would have to be enough.
Later that day, the temple changed as the hours passed.
Light shifted across the stone, warming some corners while leaving others untouched. The air carried the faint scent of old incense, disturbed by movement and time. Leira found herself restless, unable to settle, her awareness stretching outward in quiet, unconscious sweeps.
Kael noticed.
He always did.
They ended up on one of the outer terraces, where the temple opened to the world beyond, stone steps worn smooth by centuries of passage, a low wall overlooking the valley below. Wind threaded through the space, carrying distant birdsong and the faint rustle of leaves.
The breeze tugged at the hems of her sleeves and lifted strands of hair across her face, carrying the sharp tang of wet stone and the faint sweetness of distant blooms. The sun warmed her shoulders unevenly, leaving her forearms chilled, and she noticed the subtle rhythm of Kael's breathing next to her.
For a while, they stood in silence.
Then Kael spoke, softer than before. "I don't like how this makes me feel."
Leira turned to him.
"I don't like that part of me wants to be hostile," he continued. "More guarded. I don't want to take that out on you."
She leaned her elbows on the stone railing, gaze drifting outward. "You're allowed to feel all of it."
"I know," he said. "I just don't want it to change us."
She looked at him then, really looked. "It won't. Not unless we let it."
He searched her face again, as if confirming the truth of her words. "You're choosing this because you think it's right. Not because you're confused."
"Of course."
"Not because you feel… something more for him?"
"No."
Kael nodded slowly. "That's all I needed to hear."
She reached for his hand this time, threading her fingers through his. He squeezed back, firm and steady, grounding them both.
Below them, the world continued on, unaware of the quiet decisions being made above it.
Cassian spent most of the afternoon keeping his distance.
Once when he handed her the water jug without a word, his fingers brushing hers just long enough to transmit a faint warmth, both Kael and Leira flinched at the unexpected civility. It was subtle, but in that single motion, he showed more effort than hours of words could convey.
He wasn't sulking, nor brooding theatrically. He helped when asked. He stayed silent when not. He moved like someone aware of every boundary, careful not to cross a single one.
It surprised them both.
When evening came, Leira noticed Kael watching him with narrowed eyes—not hostile now, but assessing. Measuring change.
Cassian caught the look and inclined his head slightly. An acknowledgment. A promise, maybe.
Later, as the light faded and the temple slipped back into its half-waking state, Cassian stopped at the threshold of the inner hall.
"I think I should take the far room tonight," he said quietly. "The one with no locks. No chains."
The light softened across his profile, tracing the tension in his shoulders, the careful way he held himself. She felt her chest tighten with an odd mix of relief and unease, as if each small choice he made was a test she had to read, and he was daring her to understand him.
Kael didn't respond immediately.
Leira waited.
Finally, Kael said, "Do that."
Cassian nodded once. "Good night."
He turned and walked away without another glance.
Leira watched him go. She felt the effort beneath his restraint, the careful choices he was making to give them space. She didn't trust him yet, but she couldn't deny that he was trying.
And somewhere beneath her caution, a thin layer of her former hardness began to soften. Even as her thoughts traced questions she wasn't ready to ask, a flicker of warmth threaded through her chest, almost like a promise that things could change, but only if they truly let them.