Sin Rouge was never quiet.
But tonight, the silence felt earned.
A few hours earlier, the Wrath Ring had tried to test them.
Three Overlords, two mid-level generals, a handful of opportunists
all convinced that Ouroboros was weakening because its expansion had been halted.
They were wrong.
Dreg proved it.
Now the base was calmer.
No alarms and shouting.
Only the low hum of machinery and distant music from Lust.
Malerion and Verosika walked side by side along the upper corridor slowly, steadily, without haste simply feeling the weight of everything that had happened.
Verosika was the first to break the silence.
"…He did well."
Malerion nodded.
"Yes."
"He looked… different," she continued. "Stronger. More composed."
"Growth changes posture," Malerion replied simply.
She let out a quiet snort of laughter.
"You make everything sound like an equation."
He looked at her.
"And you make everything sound like a fight."
She smiled wryly.
"Maybe because it is."
They reached the highest floor—the private penthouse above the command center.
No guards. advisors.
Just a quiet corridor lit by deep, dim red light.
Malerion opened the door.
Verosika hesitated not because she doubted him, but because this was something else.
This wasn't strategy.
It wasn't an alliance.
Negotiation or battlefield adrenaline.
It was them.
He stepped aside, letting her choose instead of guiding her.
She went in.
The door closed behind them.
Inside
The penthouse lay in half-shadow; glass and obsidian reflected only soft, golden light. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the Lust Ring, shimmering like a restless neon ocean.
Verosika kicked off her heels and sat on the edge of the couch not lounging, not posing just breathing.
"…I didn't expect tonight to turn out like this," she admitted.
"Neither did I."
"That Overlord the one Dreg dealt with?" she asked, looking at him.
"He wasn't weak."
"No," Malerion agreed. "Just predictable."
Her tail flicked slowly, thoughtfully.
"And we can deal with predictability," she murmured.
"Yes."
Another beat of silence.
Longer this time.
Then Verosika finally said it out loud:
"They attacked because we stopped expanding."
"Yes," Malerion replied.
"They think hesitation means fear."
"And you're not changing your decision?"
"No."
She exhaled not in anger, not in frustration—just absorbing it.
"…Good."
He paused.
"You agree?"
"Yes," she said softly. "Because they want reactions. Stillness makes them panic."
She looked at him really looked her eyes darker, more piercing.
"And you're very good at making people panic."
For the first time that evening, something shifted in his expression something between amusement and understanding.
She stood and walked toward him slowly, without drama, without urgency just intent.
When she stopped in front of him, her voice dropped.
"…Earlier," she said, "before we were interrupted…"
His gaze met hers.
"Yes."
"Were you serious?"
"Yes."
She swallowed not out of fear, but from the intensity.
"And now?"
This time he stepped closer, close enough to steal her breath again.
"I haven't changed my mind."
Her voice was barely a whisper.
"…Good."
The silence was charged, magnetic.
Then she raised her hand and gently placed it against his jaw no performance, no flirtation, just connection.
He didn't move didn't pull away, didn't lean in he simply let her choose.
Her thumb brushed his skin.
"I don't want to rush this," she said quietly. "But I also don't want to pretend nothing is happening."
"You don't have to."
She looked at him truly looked.
Then, instead of kissing him, she leaned forward and rested her forehead against his chest, just above the steady beat of his heart.
It was calm.
Strong.
Real.
His hand rose slowly, deliberately, and rested lightly on her back.
Not possession.
restraint.
Contact.
Enough.
Verosika closed her eyes.
"…I hate how safe this feels," she whispered.
Malerion replied with the kind of honesty only he could allow himself:
"I won't apologize for that."
She let out a quiet, trembling breath of laughter.
"Yeah. I know."
She didn't move.
Neither did he.
And for the first time since Hell itself had begun testing them
Silence fell.
Not fragile.
temporary.
Built quietly, not discovered.
An earned silence.