Silence crashed through the medical bay.
The priest looked at Sylas. Yarx suddenly found his tablet fascinating. The weight of unspoken truth pressed down—that Sylas had refused to leave her side, had put her unconscious body above grid stabilization, had chosen her over his people’s immediate safety.
Weakness. The kind that got kings challenged and overthrown.
“I’m ordering installation now.” Sylas’s voice carried absolute authority, daring anyone to question. “The team will prep immediately—”
“I want to watch,” Elsa cut him off, those three words landing like thrown blades.
His ears swiveled forward. “What?”
“The installation. I want to see it.” She struggled against Yarx’s supporting grip, trying to stand. Her legs wobbled but held. “I nearly died getting that core. Your knights risked their lives fighting the Fallen to retrieve it.” Her chin lifted in that gesture he was learning meant immovable determination. “I want to understand what makes it worth all that. I want to see what it actuallydoes.”
“You can barely stand.” He gestured to her pale face, the tremor in her hands, the way she leaned on Yarx for support. “You need rest, not—”
“I need to understand.” Her voice sharpened with frustration. “You promised me information. Knowledge about this place, your people, how things work here.” She took one unsteady step toward him, then another, refusing to acknowledge her own weakness. “This is part of that. The Moon Tears, the grid, why this matters so much—I can’t be useful if you keep me ignorant.”
The priest cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “My king, if I may...” He waited for Sylas’s nod before continuing. “The installation chamber has observation areas. Designed for training purposes. She could watch from there. Safely distanced from the energy discharge.”
Dangerous. Showing her the grid installation would reveal too much about their infrastructure, their weaknesses, the extent of their dependence on Moon Tear technology that they barely understood themselves.
It would also prove she was more than a decorative captive. Would demonstrate the trust implicit in their bargain—information in exchange for cooperation.
And his beast wanted her close. Wanted to keep her in sight where he could verify she was whole, alive, stillhis.
“The engineers need two hours to prep the integration chamber.” Sylas studied Elsa’s face, watching color return to her cheeks despite exhaustion. “Can you walk that far? Without collapsing?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. Pure determination.
“Yarx?” He turned to the healer without breaking eye contact with Elsa.
The old male sighed, his ears flattening with disapproval. “Physically, she’s stable enough. The Tear Dome repaired the immediate neural damage.” He paused. “But she should rest. Proper recovery requires—”
“I’ll rest after,” Elsa interrupted, her attention still locked on Sylas. “Please. Let me see what we almost died for.”
The ‘we’ hit him harder than it should. As if they’d been a team in that frozen wreck instead of captor and captive. As if her survival mattered to him beyond asset value.
It did. That was the problem.
“Get her boots,” he addressed Yarx without looking away from those defiant blue eyes. “And the cloak. If she insists on being stubborn, she’ll be warm while doing it.”
Victory flashed across her features—small, tired, but unmistakable.
The priest bowed low. “I’ll inform the engineering team. Two hours, my king.” He gathered his scanner and datapad, moving toward the door with renewed purpose. “Lux bless this installation.”
He left, taking the urgency of fourteen dead and twenty-three wounded with him.
Yarx returned with her boots and the midnight blue cloak, muttering under his breath about foolish humans and enabling kings. Elsa accepted them with murmured thanks, her fingers fumbling with the fastenings.
Sylas watched her struggle for exactly three seconds before impatience overrode propriety. He stepped forward, brushing her hands aside, and fastened the cloak himself.
His claws brushed her throat as he worked the clasp. Her pulse jumped beneath his touch, visible and rapid.
Fear or something else? He couldn’t tell. Didn’t want to examine why it mattered.
“Two hours.” He stepped back, putting necessary distance between them. “You rest until then. Actually rest, not whatever stubborn refusal to acknowledge exhaustion you’re planning.”
Her lips curved into a genuine smile—small and tired but real. “I’ll rest. You have my word.”