Wren never expected her life to change the moment she set foot in the Riders Quadrant at Basgiath War College. But everything shifted when she met Liam Mairi. Loving him was effortless, bright, and full of promise. Losing him was shattering.
His dea...
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I find the package leaning against my doorframe before the sun has fully chased the night off the parapet. Brown kraft paper, rough twine, oddly anonymous in a place where nothing stays anonymous for long. I stand for a long time with my hand on the latch, listening to the dormitory breathe: low snores, the creak of someone turning in their cot, the distant clink of armor training already underway.
It says things about Basgiath that I immediately assume someone's trying to poison me. It says things about me that I hesitate anyway.
I glance down the corridor—empty—and back at the parcel. Then I close the door, pad to my desk, and set it there like it might explode. I pace. Twenty minutes is generous; I hit the floorboards hard enough they're starting to complain.
"What's the worst that could happen, little bird?" Ryuu's voice threads cold and amused through the bond.
"Death, disfigurement, lethal toxin," I argue out loud, because theatrics suit me. "Honestly, the possibilities are endless."
He chuffs. "You are a strange girl."
Then the bond goes quiet and I remember I'm the one who bonded the dragon who calls her rider "little bird" and proceeds to lecture her about risk tolerance.
I unwrap the paper slowly, fingers curling from habit around the familiar weight of wood and leather. Inside: a leather-bound sketchbook, thick cream pages, a set of pencils tucked into a slim roll. A note slides out, small and neat. My name on the front in a hand I've watched carve sunlight into the ridges of wood.
Wren,
You told me once you used to draw. I thought maybe you'd pick it up again. Selfishly, this is my apology. I know I've been a shameless flirt and the future is the only thing that matters less to me than the present. Dating at Basgiath always sounded pointless. One night, maybe two, and then the world takes you or you take it.
Then I was assigned to Sorrengail. I saw you there, wild hair, a laugh that cuts through armor, the kind of blunt loyalty you don't find in the halls. Fierce, terrible, funny, kind. I like you, Wren. More than a passing thing. I want to try being the sort of man who is for one person only. Be patient with me while I learn.
—Liam
My chest knocks like a fist against ribs. I read the letter three times, slow enough to map the shape of every syllable. I like you. The sentence sits in my mouth, ridiculous and impossible and brighter than any torch. My fingers shake when I slide the note back into the sketchbook.
I trace the edge of the leather with my thumb, that nervous buzz still pounding through me. Gifts aren't something I've had many of in my life. My father said kindness made you soft, and my mother let him carve that belief into us until it felt like law.
