Chapter 56 – Azaria
AZARIA
Iset down my pen; the stack of incident reports was finally complete. Dain looked up from his own paperwork across the desk. “Done?”
“For today.” I stood, rolling my shoulders.
“Going home?” he asked.
I hesitated. “Actually... I need to see someone first.”
Dain’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted in his eyes. Understanding, maybe. “All right. I’ll finish up here.”
Callan’s office was in the Velmara wing, tucked behind layers of protocol and discretion. I’d only been here a handful of times—always quiet, always careful. Our paths didn’t cross often anymore. Deliberate distance, I suspected. From both of us.
The last time I’d seen him, he’d been walking me to my cell in the dungeons.
He’d dismissed the guards, cast an illusion over the door, and apologized before I’d even sat down.
We’d spoken for a few minutes, him explaining, me listening, before I’d told him to leave.
Not out of anger. Because every second he stayed was a second someone might notice.
Six days in a dark cell. And the man who’d spent over a year steering assassins and threats away from me in secret was the one who’d had to lock the door.
I knocked twice.
“Come in.”
His voice was the same. Warm, steady. The voice that had talked me down from the edge of myself on a night when I’d needed it most. I pushed the door open.
Callan sat behind his desk, sorting through maps and correspondence. When he looked up and saw me, something moved across his face—relief first, then guilt, then a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Azaria.” He stood, setting aside the maps. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“I almost didn’t,” I admitted. Not because I was angry. I’d moved past that. But because some goodbyes are harder when the person you’re saying them to once held you together with nothing but patience and steady hands.
He gestured to the chair across from his desk.
I sat. He lowered himself back down, folding his hands between us.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. His eyes traced my face like he was cataloguing changes—the set of my jaw, the way I held my shoulders, whatever he could read in the lines around my eyes.
“You look good,” he said quietly. “Settled.”
“I am.”
“Quinton?”
“Yes.”
He nodded, like he’d expected it. “Good. That’s good, Azaria.”
The way he said it—no jealousy, no bitterness, just genuine warmth—cracked something open in my chest. Because Callan had never wanted to keep me. He’d only ever wanted to make sure I survived long enough to find someone who could.
“You’re leaving,” I said. I’d heard the rumors.
“Vasirien,” he confirmed. “With Torven’s network in Koulan dismantled—“ His eyes met mine, and the look in them said he knew exactly how it had been dismantled, and by whom. “—he’ll retreat to his stronghold. I need to be there. Keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t rebuild.”
“How long?”
“Don’t know yet. Could be months. Could be longer.” He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “But I’ll be back, eventually.”
“You’re disappearing,” I said quietly.
“For a bit, yeah.” His smile was edged with something tired. “Seemed like the right time.”
I understood what he meant. Not just strategically. He was giving me space—giving Quinton space—removing himself from the equation so cleanly that no one would ever have reason to question what we’d been. That was Callan. Protecting me even in the way he left.
I stood and moved around the desk. My hand trailed along the edge of smooth, polished wood. I stopped beside him, leaning my hip against it.
Right where I’d been that night.
The memory rose without permission. His hands on my waist, careful, letting me set every pace.
His voice low and steady—you’re in control here.
The way he’d held still when I needed him to hold still, and moved when I needed him to move.
Not because he’d wanted to fix me, but because he’d understood that after Torven, after what that man had tried to take from me, I needed to prove to myself that my body was still mine.
That I could choose who touched me, how, and when.
And Callan had given me that. Without asking for anything in return.
His gaze tracked my movement now, and recognition flickered in his expression. He remembered too.
“Do you regret it?” I asked softly.
He looked up at me, and for once, every layer of his careful composure was gone. Just Callan, open and honest.
“Not for a single second,” he said. “Do you?”
“No,” I held his gaze. “You gave me something back that night. Something I thought Torven had taken for good. I don’t think I ever thanked you properly for that.”
His throat worked. “You did all the work, Azaria. I just gave you the space.”
“That was the hardest part,” I whispered. “Having someone trust me enough to let me lead. After everything.”
The silence between us was full of everything we’d shared and everything we’d chosen not to become.
Callan stood slowly, close enough that I could see the pale blue of his eyes. Close enough that his familiar scent settled over me like an old coat.
“You know,” he said, quiet and careful, “the arrest?—“
“Don’t.”
“Az—“
“I know you didn’t have a choice.” I kept my voice even, though the six days of darkness flickered at the edges. “I knew it then. I was angry, but not at you. The council gave you an order, and you followed it. That’s what you do.”
His jaw tightened. “That doesn’t make it right.”
“No. It doesn’t. But I’ve spent enough of my life holding grudges against people who were trying to protect me in the only way they knew how.” I looked at him steadily. “You spent a year keeping me alive from the shadows, Callan. You don’t get to carry guilt over one door you were forced to lock.”
Something broke behind his eyes, just for a second. Then he pulled it back together, the way he always did—smooth, composed, the mask sliding into place. But I’d seen it. And that was enough.
His hand lifted and hovered near my face for a heartbeat before settling gently on my shoulder. The touch was light, grounding, and achingly familiar—just the way he’d always touched me, as if I were something worth handling with care.
“You’re going to be all right,” he said.
“So are you.”
He smiled, softer now. “Yeah. I think so.”
I leaned in and pressed my lips to his cheek, lingering there for a breath. Then stepped back, putting space between us again.
“Take care of yourself in Vasirien,” I said.
“I will.” He moved back around the desk, already reaching for the maps. Already shifting into the role he needed to play. Then he paused and looked up one more time.
“Quinton’s a good man,” he said quietly. “Better than he thinks he is.”
My throat tightened. “I know.”
“And Az?”
I waited.
“If you ever need me—for anything—you know how to find me.”
I nodded. Didn’t trust my voice for the rest.
The hallway felt cooler than it should have. I walked slowly, letting the echoes of my footsteps settle into silence.
It was done.
Clean. Honest. No bitterness. No regrets.
Just two people who’d helped each other survive, now walking different paths. Him back into the shadows he’d always worked from. Me toward the light, I was only just learning to stand in.
And somehow, that felt exactly right.