Jaz lay curled against him, her breathing deep and even, one hand pressed flat against his scales as if even in sleep she sought his warmth. Her dark hair had escaped its braid, the tangled strands spreading across his arm like threads of shadow. He watched her for a long moment, studying the way her lashes fanned against her cheeks and the small furrow between her brows that never quite smoothed even in rest.
Mine.
Not a claim of ownership but of something deeper. Certainty. The knowledge that whatever purpose had driven him from his frozen sleep, she was part of it.
He extended his senses outward, testing the world beyond their shelter. The ice spoke to him in its ancient language of pressure and movement, vibrations traveling through the frozen ground like whispers. The storm had truly passed this time. Not merely a lull but a genuine cessation.
“Jaz.”
She stirred, making a soft sound of protest, and burrowed deeper into his side.
“Jaz,” he said firmly. “Wake.”
Her eyes opened, unfocused at first, then sharpening as consciousness returned. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong. The storm has ended.”
She went still, her head tilted as she listened. Then she sat up abruptly, and the movement sent a wash of cold air beneath the thermal blanket. He suppressed a growl of displeasure at the loss of her softness.
“It’s quiet.” She scrambled off the bunk, reaching for the environmental readouts. “It’s actually quiet. The external sensors are showing—” Her voice caught. “Wind speed under fifteen kilometers per hour. Visibility improving. Temperature still brutal but stable. It’s already warmer in here.”
“I told you. It is over.”
“You could feel it? Through the walls?”
“Through the ice. Through the ground beneath.” He rose more slowly, stretching his muscles. His wings ached to unfurl and catch the open air but they had plans to make first. “The pressure changed. The earth breathes differently when the storm sleeps.”
She stared at him for a moment, her eyebrows raised, but then she shook her head and turned back to her equipment, practical matters reasserting themselves.
“If the storm’s really over, my communication array should come back online. If GenCon is on the move, someone may have reported it.” She was already pulling on layers of clothing, her movements quick and efficient. “I also need to check the external equipment and see what survived.”
“I will come with you.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I will come with you.”
She opened her mouth as if to argue, then closed it again. A small smile flickered at the corner of her lips. “Fine. But stay close to the habitat. If there’s any sign of GenCon activity?—”
“I will not let them see me.” He moved to stand behind her, close enough to feel the warmth of her body. “I may be newly woken, but I am not foolish.”
“Could have fooled me, attacking my drilling rig like that.”
“Your drilling rig attacked first.”
“It was just sitting there!”
“It was loud. And bright. And producing vibrations that felt like—” He searched for the right word. “Like screaming. As if the ice itself was being tortured.”
She paused in her preparations, looking back at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. “The ice was screaming?”
“Not literally. But the vibrations… It produced a particular pattern that is painful to senses like mine.” He flexed his fingers, remembering the disorientation of those first moments after waking. “I did not know what I was attacking. I only knew something was wrong.”
“And now? Does the habitat’s equipment bother you?”
“No. It is quieter. Different frequencies.” He touched her shoulder, turning her to face him fully. “I would tell you if something caused me pain. I am learning to use words instead of claws.”
That earned him another small smile. “Progress.”