Belica remained perched on his lap, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders with a familiarity that spanned decades of shared battles and midnight trysts. Her hair fell around them like a silken curtain, sealing them into a space that smelled of ancient magic and old sins. She was looking for a spark, the flicker of the beast that used to run wild with her before the House of Dravik turned him into a sentinel.
For a long moment, the silence was so heavy it felt physical. Theron could feel the heat of her skin through his shirt, a reminder of a life that was far simpler, if infinitely more violent.
