The corridors were still.
Dawn had not yet broken, but a faint silver had begun to pool along the edges of the stone floors — that hour between dreams and daylight, when even the world seemed to hold its breath.
Zelene moved like a whisper through the narrow halls, her cloak brushing against the walls, her steps careful, measured.
No guard stirred. No candle dared to flicker too brightly.
Only Kael and Darius knew she was here.
And only one of them would be awake at this hour.
She found him where she knew he would be — at the balcony that overlooked the sleeping lands.
Kael stood with his back to her, the cold wind tugging at his dark hair, his armor half undone, as though he had not slept at all.
For a moment, she simply watched him — the shape of him against the horizon, still and unreadable.
And perhaps, she thought, that was how he had always been: the calm before every storm she ever caused.
When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, almost uncertain.
"Your men are safe for now," she said. "The threat I feared… might never came."
Kael turned then, slow and deliberate. His eyes, the color of tempered gold, found hers with that same familiar weight — steady, unyielding, and far too knowing.
"You intend to leave."
He didn't ask. He stated it, as though the words were a truth written long before this night.
Zelene's throat tightened. She lowered her gaze, fingers brushing the hem of her cloak. "I came to warn you, Kael. That was my purpose. And now that purpose is done."
He took a step closer — just one — but it was enough to make her pulse quicken.
"You were never one to leave without a word."
"I did not wish to trouble you."
"You already have."
The silence that followed was heavy, but not cruel. It was full of all the things they had never said — of nights left unspoken and years buried under duty and distance.
Kael's voice softened. "When I offered you shelter, I had hoped…"
He paused, his words trailing into the wind. "I had hoped you might stay — not out of gratitude, but choice."
Zelene's lips curved faintly, though it wasn't a smile.
"Perhaps I stayed because I missed what it felt like to be home," she murmured. "Or what I once thought home could be."
He exhaled, a sound almost like defeat. "And yet you're leaving it behind."
"I must."
"Then tell me," he said, stepping closer still, "what will you find out there that you cannot find here?"
Her gaze lifted to meet his — and for the briefest second, the air between them seemed to still.
"I don't know," she whispered. "But if I stay, I might forget why I began searching in the first place."
Kael's jaw tightened, his hand curling into a fist at his side, as though holding back something he had no right to say.
"If I were a selfish man," he said quietly, "I would lock every gate and bar every road until you changed your mind."
Her eyes softened. "But you're not."
He gave a faint, humorless smile. "You've never been good at lying, Zelene."
The silence between them deepened — no longer sharp, but fragile, like glass about to break.
Zelene stepped closer, her hand brushing against his sleeve, the touch fleeting but enough to unravel the restraint in his chest.
"If the fates are kind," she said, "our paths will cross again."
Kael's breath caught — a soft, inaudible sound that trembled between them.
And then, his hand rose, slow, deliberate, until his fingers brushed against her cheek — not a claim, but a confession without words.
"You walk a dangerous road," he said, his voice roughened. "But if ever it darkens too much to bear… remember that you have someone who would set the stars themselves to light your way back."
Her eyes shimmered — though whether from grief or gratitude, neither could tell.
"I'll remember," she whispered.
"I'll see to it that you have a carriage prepared before dawn. Nothing ornate — something that won't draw attention."
"Kael—"
He raised a hand. "And supplies. Food, medicine, tools. Enough for a month's travel."
"That isn't necessary—"
"I insist," he cut in gently, but firmly. "You'll have need of them."
She exhaled, defeated but touched. "You never did know when to stop worrying."
He stepped closer — close enough that his shadow mingled with hers, the faint scent of cedar and steel surrounding her.
Then, without a word, he reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face — the motion careful, reverent.
His voice dropped, softer than before. "I'd rather worry and know you live… than pretend not to care and never see you again."
Zelene's breath caught. For a moment, she said nothing — because there was nothing she could say that wouldn't give her away.
And with that, she stepped back — one step, then another — until the distance between them felt unbearable again.
When she finally turned away, the first light of dawn was breaking over the towers, painting her silhouette in gold.
Kael stood where she left him, unmoving, watching the place where her shadow disappeared — and though he said nothing, the faint tremor in his hand betrayed what his heart could not.