“The word of a human who grabbed a Moon Tear core with her bare hands.” He let his muzzle pull back, showing teeth. “Forgive me if I don’t find that entirely reassuring.”
She laughed—a rough, breathless sound that shouldn’t have pleased him as much as it did. “Fair point.”
Yarx settled her back onto the medical bed, adjusting the blankets with practiced efficiency. “Two hours. I’m setting a timer. If you’re not sleeping for at least ninety minutes of that—”
“I will be.” She was already sinking into the furs, exhaustion winning despite her determination. “Promise.”
Sylas moved toward the door, then paused. And looked back.
She watched him with heavy-lidded eyes, fighting sleep to maintain eye contact.
“Rest.” The command came out softer than intended. “We’ll see your installation when you wake.”
“Our installation,” she corrected, words slurring slightly. “We retrieved it together.”
The ‘we’ again. Deliberate this time.
Sylas left before his expression could betray how much that simple word affected him.
Asset maintenance. Strategic necessity. Political calculation.
The lies tasted bitter, but he clung to them anyway as he walked the corridors toward the integration chamber, away from the female who’d somehow become more important than grid stabilization.
Behind him, in the medical bay, Elsa’s breathing evened into sleep.
And for the first time in hours, Sylas allowed himself to believe she’d actually survive this.
10
Elsa
Sleep came in fragments—dark and dreamless, punctuated by the soft hum of the Tear Dome’s residual energy and the distant murmur of voices she couldn’t quite parse. When consciousness pulled her back to the surface, she found herself staring at the curved ceiling of the medical bay, her body heavy with exhaustion but mercifully pain-free.
The installation. The core. She had to—
“You’re awake.” Sylas’s voice cut through her disorientation.
He stood near the doorway, arms crossed, watching her with those unnerving cyan eyes. Had he been there the whole time? Or had he just arrived?
“How long?” Her voice came out rough.
“Ninety-three minutes.” His muzzle twitched. “Yarx was impressed. He bet you’d fight sleep for at least an hour.”
Elsa pushed herself upright, testing her muscles. They responded sluggishly but without the trembling weakness from before. Progress. “The installation?”
“Prep is complete. They’re waiting.”
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, reaching for the boots Yarx had left nearby. Her fingers fumbled with the fastenings—still clumsy, still not fully recovered despite what she’d promised.
Sylas crossed the room in three strides. Before she could protest, he’d crouched before her, massive paws making quick work of the boot laces with surprising dexterity.
“I can do it myself.”
“You can barely keep your eyes open.” He fastened the second boot, then rose, towering over her. “The observation chamber is three levels down and across the central courtyard. In your condition, you’d collapse before reaching the stairs.”
Pride warred with practicality. She could walk. Probably. Maybe. If she held onto the walls and took frequent breaks and ignored the way the room tilted slightly when she turned her head too fast.
Sylas solved the dilemma by scooping her up.