Lyra
The door slammed behind him with a finality that made the silence ring louder. I stood there, spine straight, arms crossed tightly over my chest, staring at the edge of the oversized bed like it was a battlefield. Tristan didn't speak. Neither did I.
He walked past me without a word, pulling off his jacket and tossing it across the chair. His movements were sharp, efficient. Tense. Like mine.
I cleared my throat. "You don't actually expect me to sleep here."
He turned his back to me, loosening the cuffs of his sleeves. "Do you think I want this?"
"You didn't exactly protest when they gave the order."
He spun on me. "What would you have preferred? A dramatic scene? Another fine added to the list of reasons they'd drag us into an inquest?"
I glared at him. "I preferred the couch."
He took a slow, deliberate step forward. "You try sleeping on the couch and I will put you back in this bed myself."
I scoffed. "You wouldn't dare."
He didn't respond.
He didn't have to.
With a frustrated growl, I yanked back the covers and climbed in, curling toward the edge as if sheer will could build a wall between us. I stayed stiff, still fully dressed, my boots halfway hanging off the bed.
Tristan slid in on the opposite side without saying a word. We lay in a cold, strained silence, both pretending to sleep. I knew he wasn't. I could feel it in the way his breathing never slowed. The way the air between us crackled, not with magic, but something sharper. Unspoken.
---
It was still dark when I woke up. My breath hitched before I even opened my eyes. Pressure clawed at my chest, magic pulsing underneath my skin like a silent scream trying to break out. I curled inwards, fists clenched in the sheets, nails biting my palms.
A warm hand closed over mine. Firm. Grounding.
"Breathe. Just breathe."
I opened my eyes.
Tristan hovered beside me, hair tousled, eyes shadowed with something I couldn't name. Worry? Fear?
I pulled my hand away. "I'm fine."
He sat back, arms tense at his sides. "No, you're not. You keep saying that, but you're not."
"So what, you want to watch me all night now? Chain me to the bed for my safety?"
He leaned forward, eyes blazing. "Don't tempt me."
"Try it," I whispered, my voice shaking more than I wanted.
The fire between us burned hot and fast, but underneath it was something else—a shared fear neither of us could name.
His voice cracked when he finally spoke. "I don't know how to keep you safe when I don't understand what's breaking you."
Something in me gave way at that.
I didn't answer. But I didn't argue either. I lay back down, slowly this time. He did too, after a moment. We slept back-to-back, but the distance between us wasn't so vast anymore.
---
Before dawn, I stirred again. Tristan was already awake, sitting at the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees. His back to me. Silent.
A flicker of light caught in the vanity mirror. I frowned. A faint pulse of red—a sigil, etched in Consul ink, glowing just beneath the surface.
I sat up, but Tristan rose faster.
He moved to the mirror, brushing the surface once with his palm. The sigil vanished.
"Go back to sleep," he said quietly, without turning around.
I didn't move.
Because I knew then: something was coming. And we were running out of time.