Page 89 of Elemental Becoming

I grumble, trying to drag her along. “Your ‘time of need’ is every time you drink.”

She gasps. “Rude. Accurate, but rude.”

“Gods, you are the most difficult drunk I’ve ever dealt with.” I try to hold onto the irritation, but a laugh slips out anyway.

Lyra grins, triumphant. “See? You love me.”

I shake my head, chuckling. “Not right now, I don’t.”

She giggles and rests her head against my shoulder as we finally—finally—reach her door.

I kick it open and half-carry, half-shove her inside. “Alright, you’re here. Now, please, for the love of all the gods, go to bed.”

Lyra collapses onto the bed, still smiling. “You’re the best, Mara.”

I start pulling off her boots. There’s no way she’s sleeping in them. “I know.”

She smiles sleepily. “No, but really. Thanks for taking care of me. Even though I’m a drunk pain in the ass right now.”

I snort, tossing her boots aside. “Right now?”

Lyra huffs a quiet laugh, her eyes already drifting closed.“Shh. Let me have this.”

I pull the blankets over her, shaking my head. “You’re going to feel terrible in the morning.”

She mumbles something incoherent, already slipping into sleep. I step back toward the door, pausing just for a moment to take in the quiet.

Tomorrow we face training and battles; a war that is creeping ever closer.

But tonight? Tonight, we were just four friends laughing over too much wine in a world that is increasingly making these moments rare.

A LOT TO HOLD

TWELVE

Things are seldom what they seem. And sometimes, what’s right in front of us is the easiest thing to miss. Often I have to stop and push myself to gain a new perspective. How would the Shadow Clan have written history before the Shadow Wars?

—VALEN’S JOURNAL

AMARA

The morning of the ball, I wake to an empty bed.

Instinctively, I reach for Thane, my eyes still closed, but my fingers find only cool sheets. He’s been gone for a while. I frown, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. The space beside me is empty, but it stillholds the faint trace of him.

Then I remember.

At some point in the night, I felt him come to bed—the mattress dipping as he slid in next to me, the familiar weight of him settling close. A soft press of lips to my temple. The warmth of his breath against my hair as he nuzzled against me. His arm curled around my waist, pulling me into him, his touch firm but careful, as if he wasn’t sure whether I was awake.

Half-asleep, I sighed, sinking into him. “Mmm. You’re back.”

His voice was low, rough with exhaustion. “I am. Sorry I woke you.”

I barely had the energy to respond, already drifting again, but I had felt it—the way he exhaled, the tension easing from him. Like he’d been holding himself together all day.

As if here in this bed was the only place he let go.

Now, in the morning light, the bed feels too large.