The city was quiet for once. No sirens. No coded alerts. No gunfire.
Kael had insisted they take a day. Just one. A breath in the storm.
Aelina sat curled up in a soft blanket on the massive leather couch of his private residence, feet tucked beneath her, a mug of tea cradled in her hands. Outside, a gentle rain painted streaks across the wide windowpanes.
Kael entered quietly, fresh from the shower, wearing only a dark shirt and sweats. He moved toward her with cautious steps, studying her as if she might vanish.
"I don't know how to rest," she murmured, not looking up.
He sat beside her, close but not touching.
"That's why I brought you here. So you don't have to know. You can just… be."
She smiled faintly. "You make that sound so easy."
He reached out, gently taking the mug from her and placing it on the table.
"Tell me something," he said softly. "Something real. Something I don't know."
Aelina looked at her hands. Silent for a moment. Then:
"I was seven when my mother died. Not in a war. Not in a raid. Just… an accident. Fire in the lower districts."
Kael stayed silent, letting her speak.
"She was strong. Loud. She used to sing to me while she worked. I remember the smell of metal on her fingers from the factory."
A pause.
"After she died, I bounced through shelters. Foster families. Got into fights. Took things that didn't belong to me. Not because I wanted them. Just to feel in control of something."
Kael reached over, covering her hand with his.
"I learned to fight when I was twelve. Some older guy thought I'd be easy prey in the back alleys. He was wrong. That night changed everything."
She looked at him, finally.
"I didn't want to be a victim. Ever. So I made myself into a weapon."
Kael's grip tightened slightly.
"But you're not just a weapon," he said.
"I know that. Now."
He pulled her closer until her head rested on his chest.
They stayed like that for a while. Listening to the rain. The beat of each other's hearts.
Then she whispered:
"I've never told anyone that."
He kissed her forehead.
"I'm honored you told me."
Later, Kael cooked.
He wasn't great at it, but the gesture mattered. Aelina sat on the kitchen island, bare feet swinging, watching him with amusement as he burned the edge of the toast.
"You're terrifying in combat," she teased, "but apparently helpless with a frying pan."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "You're welcome to try."
She jumped down. "Move."
They cooked together then. Simple food. Laughter. Something soft and human in the middle of their war.
When they finally sat to eat, Aelina looked around and murmured:
"This doesn't feel real."
Kael reached for her hand again. "It is. Maybe not always. But today… this is ours."
That night, they curled up in bed together. No passion. No fire. Just comfort.
He lay on his back, her head on his shoulder, her fingers tracing idle shapes on his chest.
"What happens when this ends?" she asked.
Kael was quiet.
"We survive. And we figure out what peace looks like."
"Do you think people like us get peace?"
"I think we fight for it. For each other."
She nodded slowly.
"I'd like that," she whispered.
And Kael closed his eyes, holding her tighter.