Back in the guest room, the world seemed to narrow until it was only the two of them.
The door had barely closed before the hush returned—soft, warm, familiar. The room still carried the faint scent of clean linen and wood, and the last of the daylight bled through the tall glass panels above, painting the walls in amber tones. It felt safe here. Removed from councils, libraries, destinies, and seas yet to be crossed.
They lay down together, not with urgency, not with the weight of expectation, but with something gentler.
This time, Ilyrana did not keep a careful distance.
She shifted closer, naturally, as though it had always been this way. Her arm slipped around Luke's torso, her fingers resting lightly against his side, and she tucked herself into him with an ease that surprised him more than anything else. Her head found his chest, fitting there as if it belonged. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat seemed to guide her breathing until it evened out, slow and calm.
