The air in the chamber didn't just feel thin; it felt nonexistent.
Elara couldn't breathe.
The man standing before her was not a figment of exhaustion, not a trick of a malnourished mind.
He was solid.
He was terrifyingly, impossibly real.
The silver eyes.
She knew those eyes.
She had traced the shape of them in the dark for five years.
She had memorized the way the silver fleared when he was amused, the way they darkened when he was in pain.
She had seen that face every time she closed her eyes, a sanctuary built in the only place she could be free.
Commander Vaelith.
The name slammed into her chest like a physical blow, knocking the breath out of her lungs.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of bone.
No
.The denial was a whisper in he
