The grip around Elias's waist was firm.
Not desperate.
Not gentle.
Instinctive.
Cassian's arms locked in place as if his body had reacted before his mind could catch up—before restraint, before sense. Elias felt the heat of him through layers of fabric, the controlled strength held too carefully, as though Cassian were afraid that even pressure might be too much.
Elias stilled.
Only for a fraction of a second. He almost melted.
Then he spoke.
"Let go."
His voice was calm. Not startled. Not breathless. It cut cleanly through the wind whistling along the stone gallery.
A pause.
The grip didn't loosen; if anything, it tightened, his fingers splaying across Elias's stomach, right through the thin linen of the academy purple.
"This plant feeds on magic," Elias continued, eyes fixed forward, hands steady on the heavy stone pot cradled against his chest. "You're destabilizing it."
The arms loosened immediately.
The world tilted for a fraction of a second.
