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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"This one...she's different," Deigh rumbles across the bond.
"I know she is," I answer, knife moving steady as I whittle the curve of Ryuu's wing into the block of cedar in my hands. Wood curls scatter over my lap. Wren's dragon deserves to look fierce, if only because it makes her laugh when I get the angle of the horns right.
She sits a few feet away with Rhiannon and Violet, heads bent together, voices weaving in and out of laughter and gossip. I keep my distance, close enough to guard, far enough not to intrude. The Codex makes it clear: a bodyguard should be a shadow, not a shadow hovering. And gods know Xaden would string me up if I left my post again like I did in Battle Briefs, when I nearly lost my head and told Wren everything.
Everything.
About Navarre's lies. About shipments smuggled to gryphon fliers. About how the marked ones bleed themselves thin to fight the venin because no one else will. I almost told her because she deserves the truth—because she looks at me like she knows I'm holding something back.
But Deigh's low growl pulled me back. If you speak, she carries the weight with you. If she carries it, she bleeds for it. Are you willing to spill her blood for your guilt?
Now, the question still lingers in his silence.
"I know the guilt you feel not telling her," Deigh finally says, his tone rough with age and certainty. "She is different. But is she different enough to carry this burden? To hold a secret that could undo everything your wingleader has fought for?"
I glance at Wren again, at the way she throws her head back when she laughs, unbothered by how sharp or reckless she seems to everyone else. She doesn't hide her fire. She doesn't apologize for it. She charges headfirst, even when the whole damn world tells her not to.
"She's different than the rest," I tell him, voice low. "She's unfiltered and guarded all at once. Unafraid to stand alone if it means standing for what's right. She's kind, gods, she's kinder than anyone I've ever met and she doesn't see that as weakness. She's authentic. She's stubborn as hell. Passionate, unpredictable, stronger than anyone gives her credit for."
The blade pauses, my thumb brushing a fresh cut into Ryuu's carved spine. "If this secret starts pulling us apart, I'll tell her. Gods be damned, I will."
Deigh doesn't argue. He only breathes out through our bond, a heavy sound that feels like both warning and acceptance. His silence says enough, he understands.
And he agrees.
The training hall at Basgiath always hummed with noise, boots striking mats, the crack of staffs colliding, the metallic hiss of blades sparking when someone got too close. The air was thick with sweat and leather oil, a chorus of dragons rumbling faintly outside through the open archways, the ever-present reminder of who we were fighting for.
