I heard him before I saw him. That voice, smooth, arrogant, practiced charm sharp as a blade. Ordering oysters. Critiquing wine. I knew it as well as I know my own voice. Senator Killjoy. My chest seized. My breath stuck. The glass shook in my hand, cold sweat sliding down my spine.
If he saw me—Gods, if he saw me—
Would he want me back? He almost had me once. I was almost real with him, let him see more than the mask. He thought he loved me. Maybe he did. Part of me still fears what I might do if he reached for me again. Or worse. He'd look at me, sitting beside Malvor, and assume it was payment. That my smile was bought, my joy rehearsed. That I had never been anything more than what the temples carved into me. The pier blurred. My pulse screamed in my ears. My body locked. My vision blurred on the edges. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't stop imagining his eyes on me, stripping away this fragile happiness and dragging me back into the role I had barely escaped.
Then, gold eyes in front of me, steady, grounding. Malvor's hands on mine, his voice breaking through the static. "Annie. Look at me. He doesn't see you. He won't. I've got you."
A tear fell before I knew it. My lips parted, but nothing came out. The world cracked, then vanished. I don't remember leaving. I don't remember Arbor wrapping around me. I don't remember his hands guiding me into bed, or the way he brushed my hair back. All I remember is the dark.
Nightmares pulled me under fast, cruel. Voices filled my skull, familiar and endless. Priests chanting, gods laughing, Killjoy whispering like he had every right to me. Aerion screaming his fury. Runes burning. Pain searing. My own scream breaking through the silence until I didn't know if I was asleep or awake. I screamed until my throat was raw. I thrashed against sheets I couldn't escape. Hands, his hands, held me down, not to harm but to anchor, to stop me from shattering against the walls of Arbor. Still, the voices tore at me. Still, the pain burned through bone and blood. Still, I cracked. I don't remember how it ended. I don't remember how long it lasted. But I remember opening my eyes once, just long enough to see him, Malvor, hovering above me, exhausted, whispering my name like it was the only prayer he had left.
Finally darkness took me again. Malvor didn't sleep. I knew it, even with my eyes closed. His breathing never shifted the way it did when he finally let go. The night felt stretched thin, held up by his stubborn refusal to rest. But when Arbor's first light spilled through the curtains, golden, soft, merciful, he slipped from the bed like smoke.
I didn't stir. Because for once, I was actually sleeping. When I finally blinked awake, the room was quiet, my body loose instead of tight, my chest rising without resistance. Peaceful. The rarest word in my vocabulary. Malvor knelt beside the bed, tray balanced in his hands like it was some holy thing. The mug was perfect. Triple shot, iced, sweet but not cloying, with hazelnut and caramel swirling together like alchemy. A heart floated in the foam, lopsided. Next to it, a tiny spiral of chaos. His mark. I took a sip. Warmth spread through my ribs like sunlight. I smiled. Soft. Real. I lifted my hands and shaped a heart with my fingers.
He melted, just like I knew he would. "Okay," he whispered, his grin already scheming, "today is a no-world day. No gods. No trauma. Just blanket-based architecture."
My brow arched. He doubled down. "We are building a fort. A legendary one. Architects will weep."
By the gods, he meant it. Arbor helped, of course, dramatic little accomplice. The living room became a cathedral of cozy. Towers of pillows. Cascading quilts. Firefly lanterns. Stars flickering overhead. The couch transformed into a throne of squishy cushions, absurd and ridiculous. It was perfect. For me, it was distraction. A place to breathe without thinking.
He queued the projector before I could argue. Chronicles of the Crystal Phoenix: Part VII. Blood Moon Ascending. It was awful and perfect. The villain jingled like a windchime with all his jewels. The dragon looked like it had been animated by drunken goats. Sir Bladefist's betrayal scene made me clutch a pillow and mime a dramatic gasp. Malvor buried his face in his hands like it physically hurt him. When the dragon crash-landed, we reenacted it in slow motion, arms flailing, faces twisted. It was nonsense. It was everything.
Halfway through, I curled against him. His body stilled, arms going tight around me. My silent laughter faded into something softer. My breath slowed. Sleep over took my body just like that. No twitching. No flinches. Just… sleep.
When I stirred again, the movie had long ended. Stars twinkled across the ceiling like lullabies. His arm was still around me, his thumb brushing my temple.
"Hey, Star Shine," he whispered. "You hungry?"
I nodded, still caught between the haze of dreams and the comfort of him. I signed the only word that mattered: Food.
His grin was nothing short of dangerous. With a snap: pizza. Mountains of it. Pineapple and jalapeños. Pepperoni with pickles. Triple cheese. Something that smelled like a sea creature had crawled onto cardboard to die. I blinked at the boxes. Pointed. Signed: You monster.
He only flourished the cursed slice at me, smug. We sank deeper into the fort, thighs as tables, napkins conjured from thin air. Another movie flickered to life. Starlight Dominion: The Reckoning.
There he was. Malvor. On the screen. Shirtless. Dramatically shirtless. I pointed from screen to him. Back again. He chewed his pizza with the innocence of a man caught red-handed. "Bold creative choice. The director had a vision."
I signed: Was the vision just abs?
"Exactly." I rolled my eyes, but leaned into him again. By the time the anthem swelled and the credits rolled, I was smiling. Not just my mouth. My eyes. My whole self. That felt like enough.
Later, when the last crumbs had been picked from the cushions and the fort sagged into a soft, chaotic heap, Malvor finally asked the question I knew had been clawing at him all day. "What did you see in Leyla's realm?" His voice was low, careful. Almost afraid of the answer. "What did she give you?"
I stared down at my empty mug. My thumb traced the rim like it might give me an escape. I shrugged. Small. Careful. The kind of movement that says nothing worth talking about.
I don't know. But I did. Gods, I did. It hadn't been power. Or clarity. Or even control. It had been a dream. A little stone house on a hill, sun-warmed and crooked in all the right places. A kitchen that smelled like rosemary and bread. Laughter stitched into the walls, echoing down hallways that had always known my name. A child. My child. Auburn curls, eyes mismatched, giggling as she called me Mama. A man who loved me. His face, Malvor's face, but not his eyes. No storm. No chaos. Just a clean, gentle smile. Empty. Perfect. Wrong. The memory tightened in my throat until I couldn't breathe around it. How could I explain it? That I almost wanted it. That it almost kept me. I stayed silent.
Malvor didn't push. Didn't pry. He just reached for me, slow, steady, his fingers lacing through mine like sunrise trying to coax me awake. "Whatever it is," he whispered, "you don't have to carry it alone."
My hand twitched. Almost squeezed back. Almost. But not yet. That night, the silence returned, not the soft kind. Heavy. Dense. The kind that pressed in on my ribs until I curled smaller, tighter, my back to him, my body coiled like a blade worn down from too much use. I didn't sleep. Not really.
When I did slip under, it came jagged. My shoulders twitched. My lips parted. Whispers clawed at my throat and dissolved into nothing. Breaking it all was his touch. Malvor's hand against my cheek. His voice, quiet as breath. "Annie. You're safe. Come back."
I didn't wake. But I leaned into him. Just enough. Barely anything. I felt it ripple through him, the way his whole body broke around that single movement. Not with tears. With something deeper. Helpless. Fierce. The kind of ache you can't fix, no matter how many times you swear you'll burn the world to make it better. I hated that I gave him that ache. But I loved him for staying anyway.