Chapter 3 #3
Her expression grows more serious. “They’re mentioned and have insight.”
The words hang there, heavy with implication. Because if the research coming out of the citadel is even half as important as it sounds, then the rebellion might finally understand the very thing that brought all of us here.
The rifts themselves.
And that kind of knowledge could change everything.
The thought hangs in the tunnel between us like the echo of a struck bell.
For a moment none of us speaks. The drainage chamber suddenly feels smaller, the stone walls closing in around the weight of everything Shanae has just said. Water drips somewhere deeper in the tunnel system, each soft plink against stone carrying farther than it should.
Shanae shifts her stance first, rolling one shoulder as if reminding herself she’s been standing in damp tunnels for longer than planned.
“I should go,” she says. “The others won’t slow down much. If I move now, I’ll catch them before the ridge.”
Varek studies her for a moment, his expression thoughtful but already sliding towards decision. That’s the thing about him. He doesn’t hesitate for long once the shape of the problem becomes clear.
“You travelled alone?”
“Mostly,” she says with a small shrug. “The first stretch, anyway. The route was clear.”
His brow furrows slightly at that, the protective instinct he carries for everyone under his command showing through in the slight locking of his jaw. “You should not have risked the forest without escort.”
Shanae gives him a look that is half fondness, half challenge. “Pur-lease. I could run these paths with my eyes closed.” She winks at me, and I grin.
Varek exhales slowly through his slender nose, the faintest hint of resignation crossing his features.
For a moment, the commander slips away and the Nyxerian male beneath it shows through—the one who has spent years surviving alongside the same handful of beings who became something closer to family than a group of random refugees.
“Return safely,” he says quietly.
“Always do.” Shanae glances at me then, her perceptive eyes flicking between us like she’s interpreting something neither of us has actually said. “Well,” she says, clapping her hands lightly together. “Try not to brood too long. It’s unattractive.”
“Your advice is noted,” Varek replies dryly.
She laughs and steps backward into the drainage tunnel, lantern light dancing across the wet stone as she disappears into the darkness.
Within seconds, the soft echo of her footsteps fades. And then it’s just the two of us.
The silence that follows feels heavier than the one before.
The lantern beside me crackles faintly, its light throwing long shadows along the tunnel walls.
Somewhere beyond the archway, the drainage channel curves away towards the outer valleys where the escaped group will already be making their slow climb towards safety.
Varek doesn’t move. I don’t either. But the bond between us shifts. It’s subtle and aware.
The past month has changed something between us.
Ten years ago, we barely understood each other. Everything between us had been too raw, too tangled in grief and anger and the sudden violence that had bound our lives together.
Now…
Now we’ve shared quiet mornings in the warehouse, arguments over food supplies, and long stretches of silence where neither of us felt the need to fill the space with words.
Small things where we’ve learnt the rhythm of someone else’s presence. And I’ve been careful not to think too hard about how much easier it’s started to feel.
“You should return,” I say finally. The words come out rougher than I intended.
Varek looks at me. There’s no surprise in his expression. He seems to be measuring the weight of what I’ve said. “Yes.”
He doesn’t pretend otherwise. He doesn’t soften it. The honesty of that should make it easier. It doesn’t.
“The rebellion needs you,” I add, forcing my tone into something practical. “Sounds like things are finally moving in the right direction.”
“They are.”
His voice is quiet, but there’s a current of purpose running beneath it now. Shanae’s news has already begun settling into place in his mind, Varek reshaping plans and possibilities the way a battlefield commander studies terrain.
“The prince’s support changes the balance of power,” he continues. “And the knowledge contained in those scrolls may give us the advantage we have lacked.”
I nod because he’s right.
For the first time since the rebellion started, the pieces are beginning to align. Aelith’s influence within the Glowranth courts, Kael’s loyalty as his guard captain, Solan’s raw power as a warrior—all of it adds weight to a cause that until recently had been little more than scattered resistance.
And now there’s the research and the older texts. The books from the citadel, which apparently contain knowledge about the rifts themselves. That means the fight is about to become something more significant than survival.
Varek looks back towards the exit where Shanae vanished. “I will leave shortly.”
Panic pulls my chest. It’s ridiculous. I knew this was coming the moment she mentioned Dawson waking up and the progress with the scrolls. The rebellion is gathering momentum, and Varek is the one person who knows how to turn that momentum into something real.
Of course he has to go back.
Still. The thought of the warehouse without him in it feels… wrong.
I push the feeling aside. “How long will you be gone?”
“One week.”
I glance up at him quickly. “Only a week?”
“It is the longest I am willing to risk.” His eyes hold mine. “The bond remains incomplete.”
Yeah. I know. Even the short stretches we’ve spent apart these past weeks have carried that dull ache beneath the ribs, like a pulled muscle that never quite heals.
A week…
“That might be pushing it,” I mutter.
“Yes.”
There’s no point in me pretending the bond doesn’t exist or that it doesn’t matter.
The silence stretches.
“You should come with me,” he says, trying again to convince me.
I shake my head before he can finish the thought. “No.”
“Pax—”
“I have work here.” He knows this, and the words come out harder this time, but not angry, just certain.
Varek studies my face for a long moment. Then he nods, catching up with the reality that there is no changing my mind. “I know.”
There’s no argument. No attempt to convince me otherwise. Which somehow makes the moment feel heavier instead of lighter.
“Promise me something,” he says.
I sigh. “That never ends well.”
“Promise me that if you need me, you will send word.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You think I won’t?”
“You prefer to solve problems alone.”
He’s not wrong.
“Humour me.”
I hold his gaze. “Fine. I promise.”
The bond between us warms slightly at the words, satisfied. Varek nods once. Then he turns towards the exit, which means the moment has arrived. The part where he leaves.
And suddenly the thought of simply watching him walk away feels unbearable.
Before I can think about what I’m doing, my body moves. I cross the distance between us in two quick steps, grab the front of his tunic, and yank him down.
Varek barely has time to react before my mouth crashes into his.
For half a second the world stops.
Then the bond explodes.
Heat surges through my chest like lightning striking deep water, spreading through every nerve with a fierce, electric certainty that steals the breath from my lungs. Varek’s hands come up instinctively, catching my arms as the kiss deepens.
And fuck. I’d forgotten.
The first kiss had been chaos—panic and anger and confusion all tangled together after seeing him for the first time in years.
This… this is different.
His mouth is warm against mine, steady and sure in a way that sends a shiver straight down my spine. When his fingers tighten slightly around my arms, the contact feels like something ancient finally clicking into place.
Right.
That’s the only word for it.
Right.
The forming bond hums between us like a living thing, contentment spreading through it in slow waves as if the connection itself has been waiting years for this moment.
Varek exhales softly against my lips, the sound almost a question.
I deepen the kiss before he can ask it, and his response is immediate.
One hand slides to the back of my neck, careful but firm, drawing me closer as if afraid the moment might vanish if he loosens his grip. Heat builds between us, fast and intoxicating, the bond feeding off every heartbeat.
For a few perfect seconds, the rest of the world simply ceases to exist.
Then reality crashes back in.
I pull away abruptly.
Varek’s eyes are bright, silver catching the lantern light in a way that makes them look almost luminous. For a moment, he doesn’t move. Neither do I.
If I stay here any longer… if I look at him another second… I’ll ask him to stay. And that would be a mistake. So I step back, turn, and start walking down the tunnel towards my warehouse.
The lantern light stretches my shadow long across the wet stone as I move away. Every step feels heavier than the last, the bond between us pulling taut like a thread stretched across distance.
I know he’s still standing there, watching. I can feel it. The awareness hums through the bond with a quiet intensity that makes it almost impossible not to turn around. But I don’t. Because if I look back… if I see his face right now… I won’t let him go. And the rebellion needs him more than I do.
So I keep walking into the darkness of the tunnel, pretending the ache in my chest is just the bond pulling and not something deeper.
Not something that feels dangerously close to longing.