The Dragon Lord had not spoken in an hour.
Not because there was nothing to say.
But because words were a fragile thing—and his feelings were not.
He walked behind them both, his gaze drawn not to the broken trail or the whispering branches overhead, but to the way Rose moved—graceful, yes, but haunted. She was no longer the girl who had once stared down gods with defiance in her eyes. Nor was she yet the woman who would carry the weight of divinity without faltering.
She was in between.
And so was he.
The silence between her and Alex had been tentative earlier, a peace strained by invisible threads. Now, they moved in rhythm again, if not harmony. Their hands did not touch, but their steps matched.
And yet—she looked back.
Only once.
Only at him.
It undid something inside the Dr
