Chapter 19 – Quinton
QUINTON
Iknocked at the usual time, pastries in hand, heart steady.
Four days of this now. Four days of careful conversation, comfortable silences, slow progress.
Each afternoon I’d crouched in front of her and traced my fingers along her hands, her wrists, her forearms, letting her watch every movement, letting her choose when to pull away.
She’d stopped flinching on the second day.
By the third, she’d turned her hand over and met me halfway—her fingers finding mine, briefly, before she withdrew.
She was getting stronger. Brighter. More her.
The door opened. And she smiled.
Not the ghost of one. Not the almost-there curve of her mouth I’d been collecting like precious things. A real, genuine smile. The kind that reached her eyes and made them warm.
My heart stuttered. Gods. I’d forgotten what that looked like. What it felt like to be on the receiving end of Azaria Sylvenhart’s smile.
“You’re staring, Quin,” she said, mouth curving wider.
“Can you blame me?” I managed.
She stepped aside and let me in. “I suppose not.”
The sitting room felt lighter today. Brighter. She’d opened more windows, letting the afternoon sun spill across the floor. A vase of fresh flowers sat on the table: pale blue and white, simple but deliberate. She was reclaiming her space. Making it hers again.
We settled into our usual spots: her on the sofa, me in the armchair. Close, but not crowding. I unwrapped the pastries and passed her one.
“Let me guess,” she said, taking it. “Honey cinnamon again.”
“Would you prefer something else?”
“Don’t you dare.” She bit into it, eyes closing briefly. “This is perfect.”
I watched her, something warm settling in my chest. “You look better,” I said.
“I feel better.” She brushed crumbs from her fingers and met my eyes. “Almost like a person again.”
“You were always a person, Az.”
Her mouth twitched. “A very broken one.”
“Still a person.”
She held my gaze for a moment, then looked away, reaching for her tea.
“So,” she said, voice lighter. “Are you going to keep bringing me pastries until I’m fat and useless, or is there an endgame here?”
I grinned. “I’m playing the long game. Softening you up with baked goods until you can’t say no to anything I ask.”
“Devious.”
“I thought so.”
She laughed. Brief, but real. Gods, I’d missed that sound.
We ate in comfortable silence for a while, the kind that didn’t need filling. She told me about Myrin’s latest checkup, the clearance she’d been given, and the exercises she’d been doing to rebuild her strength.
I told her about the squad: Kael’s latest disaster in training, Zeph setting a practice dummy on fire by accident, Thorne’s deadpan commentary making it worse.
She smiled at the stories. Almost laughed at one. Looked more like herself than I’d seen since Solmarin. But then something shifted. Her expression went distant. Eyes unfocused, staring at nothing. Mouth pressed into a thin line. I recognized that look. She was planning something.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked.
She blinked, coming back to the present. “Hmm?”
“You went somewhere. Somewhere dark.”
Her jaw tightened slightly. “What comes next.”
“And what comes next?”
She set her tea down carefully. “I’m going back to the wing tomorrow.”
I went still. Tomorrow. That was fast. Too fast, maybe. “Are you ready?” I asked.
She looked at me, eyes steady. “As ready as I can be.”
“That’s not an answer, Az.”
“It’s the only one I have.” She paused, fingers curling around the cup. Then, lower, like the words were costing her: “I worry some parts of me may still be broken. That I’ll walk in and they’ll see it.”
My chest tightened. I stood, moved across the room, and kneeled in front of her. She went still. Not the flinch-stillness of the first days, but something else. Surprise. Awareness.
“What are you?—”
“Listen to me,” I said.
She closed her mouth. Waited.
I looked up at her. At the shadows still lingering beneath her eyes. The brittleness she was trying to hide behind sarcasm and steady hands. The strength she’d clawed back inch by inch, day by day.
“You survived something that would’ve broken most people,” I said. “Six days in the dark. Sensory deprivation. Torture. And you didn’t break. You didn’t give them what they wanted.”
“Quin—”
“You’re still here,” I continued. “Still fighting. Still stubborn as hells and twice as dangerous. You think you’re broken? Maybe. But broken things can still cut. Still kill. Still win.”
Her breath hitched.
I leaned forward, holding her gaze. “I will stand with you. I won’t let you do anything alone. Whatever comes next—whatever you’re planning that you’re not telling me yet—say the word and I’ll burn them all.”
Silence.
Her eyes were wide, something raw and unguarded breaking through the composure she’d been holding all afternoon.
“Quin…” she whispered. My name. Heavy with everything she couldn’t say.
She reached out. Slowly, tentatively, her fingers brushed my cheek.
I went very still. I barely breathed, letting her control this.
Her touch was uncertain. Her hand trembled; not the involuntary tremor of the last week, but the shakiness of choosing to do something that frightened her. She was testing whether this was safe.
Then she flattened her palm against my face, and warmth spread across my skin. I leaned into it, closing my eyes. Her pulse beat against my senses: fast, unsteady, but not afraid.
I reached up and took her hand in both of mine. Held it carefully. Then I brought it to my lips and kissed her knuckles. Her fingers tightened around mine. A small, involuntary squeeze, like her body answered before her mind could intervene. She didn’t pull away.
We stayed like that for a long moment. Her hand in mine, my lips against her skin, the air between us heavy with everything unsaid.
I lowered her hand and opened my eyes. She was watching me. Eyes dark. The walls she’d rebuilt so carefully over the last two weeks were still there, but she’d opened a door in them. For me.
“Tomorrow,” she said. “I go back tomorrow.”
I nodded. “And I’ll be there.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I’ll be there.” Firmer this time. “Every step. Every fight. Whatever you need.”
Relief broke across her face, followed by something fiercer. Gratitude sharpened by the same stubborn pride that made her impossible to help and impossible not to admire.
She nodded once.
I stood, stepped back. Gave her space even though every instinct I had fought against the distance.
“I should go,” I said. “Let you rest before tomorrow.”
She stood with me and walked me to the door.
At the threshold, I paused. Looked back. “Az?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Whatever you’re planning,” I said. “Whatever dark thing you’re not telling me yet. I meant what I said. Say the word.”
Her mouth curved. Not a smile, but something more edged. “I know,” she said.
I pulled the door shut behind me.
I stood in the street. Blood magic humming low and warm under my skin, the ghost of her palm still burning against my cheek.
Tomorrow, she’d walk back into the common wing. Tomorrow, whatever came next would begin. And I’d be beside her. That wasn’t a promise.
It was a fact.