Hermine sat among the dens voices and lifted her cup when she caught my eye, no speech attached. Johan ate like a man who had approved a form and was done discussing it.
In our rooms Magnus barred the door and I leaned against it and finally let the day land in my body.
"Your hand," he said.
We unbound the cloths together. The cuts were already sealing, thin red lines that would silver into something only we would keep checking without needing to.
He lifted my palm and kissed it.
He kissed the edge of it, not careful, not ceremonial—hungry in the quiet way of a man who had waited for the light and intended to use the dark as well.
"Still the work after," I said.
"Still the work after." His mouth found mine. "And this."
We did not rush. The mark had taken the morning's sharpness; what remained was heat and the relief of a decision that no longer lived only behind a barred door.
