The room felt smaller once the doors closed.
Not because of stone or shadow or the warm amber glow cast by the lamps, but because Damien remained close enough that Aria could sense the rhythm of his breathing.
Measured.
Controlled.
Contained, like thunder waiting inside heavy clouds.
Silence stretched between them, not empty but alive, pulsing with everything left unsaid. The maps lay abandoned on the table behind them, parchment curling slightly at the edges where faint ward-light shimmered. Ancient symbols glowed softly, watchful, as if aware of the moment yet choosing neutrality.
Aria's heartbeat filled her ears.
She had stood before death without trembling. Faced councils older than empires. Held power capable of bending stone and memory alike.
Yet this felt far more dangerous.
"You should be resting," Damien said at last, voice steady, though deeper than before, threaded with something quieter.
Aria tilted her head slightly. "Is that an order?"
