Astro's mark pulsed.
Each heartbeat betraying him.
Each glow showing he felt despite trying not to.
The light rippled across his skin like liquid gold, warm and alive, painting shadows across the bronze gears surrounding us. I could see the rhythm of it—faster now, more urgent—each pulse sending soft illumination dancing across the mechanical surfaces.
We floated in impossible situation.
Too close to survive.
Too bound to separate.
The air between us held strange quality—thick with magic, metallic on my tongue, carrying faint scent of ozone and ancient bronze. Our bodies drifted in the weightless space, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin, see the fine tremor in his hands as he fought against reaching for me.
Then the gears shifted.
Not just turning.
Moving.
Repositioning.
Creating space.
Creating opening.
