Kaelith
The others sleep eventually.
Cassian pretends he isn’t resting, sitting near the outer edge of camp with one hand still on the hilt of his blade. Lucien falls asleep only after reinforcing the wards three separate times. Eryndor complains dramatically about roots beneath his blanket before passing out almost instantly afterward.
And Aria—Gods. Aria finally sleeps curled near the firelight, silver‑gold warmth from the flames dancing softly across her skin while the bond hums steady and alive beneath my ribs.
Alive.
The realization still hits like impact every time.
The bond no longer feels separate from me.
Not entirely.
I feel her breathing through it.
Her exhaustion.
The faint remnants of fear still buried beneath her sleep.
And worse—I feel how much she trusts us now.
