"I thought I'd never see you again," she whispered.
"Not like this."
The wind beyond the chamber windows shifted—dry and warm, smelling faintly of burnt copper and ancient dust. The walls of the airship trembled faintly with each passing draft, like even the steel skin of the vessel was holding its breath.
He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Her skin was warmer than he expected. Not the warmth of heat, but of life.
"I counted the days. Every one of them."
His voice barely passed the space between them, but it hit her like thunder under bone.
She blinked. Her lashes heavy with unshed emotion. Her face—so often cold, poised, weaponized—now looked soft. Almost young again. Not the Empress of an empire. Just Eli. The girl who used to race him barefoot across the dark forest.
A pause followed. But not just silence.
The kind of pause that lovers share. A space neither dared to fill too quickly, as if words might ruin the shape of what was hanging in the air between them.
