Page 25 of Alien Devil’s Crown

“I understand yours perfectly. They were visible through the jacket.”

Silence hit the table and shattered into Bronwen’s delighted laugh. Rylos held my eyes while the tips of his fangs appeared.

“Delivery remains scheduled,” he said.

“Good. I’m tired of waiting.”

“He does eat,” Anhara observed beside me, watching him not sit. “Standing, at the counter, after everyone’s served. Every time. Kallum says he’s done it since the Penumbra launched.”

“Why?”

“Kallum says: so he can see the whole table at once.” She went back to her plate. “Nobody’s ever asked him if that’s the reason. It might just be where he can love them without anyone noticing.”

He stood at the counter with his plate, watching them. Tomorrow, he had to bring everyone home.

When I passed the counter for water, I let the side of my hand drag over his wrist. One brief contact, invisible from most of the table. His fingers closed around mine beneath the counter and held for two beats, grip hot and far too tight to be casual.

“Mission related?” I murmured.

“No,” he said, and released me.

I got up when the meal loosened into after-noise, picked up my cup, and found him beside me at the counter. Of course. We had been finding reasons to end up near each other all evening, and neither of us was pretending otherwise anymore.

“They’re something,” I said.

“They’re everything.” No hesitation, no performance. He set his plate down.

“Bronwen fed you,” I said. “You allowed it.”

“Arguing only makes her worse. I learned that quickly.” The corner of his mouth moved. “She counts the plates after. If mine’s untouched, she recooks it and stands there. I command this vessel.”

“Clearly.” A beat. “Tomorrow could kill us all.”

“Probably,” he said. Then he laughed. “I usually give that answer with figures attached.”

He turned toward me. The mess hall was warm and loud around us.

“Any regrets?” he asked.

He meant it as a commander’s question, I think. The kind you ask the night before a dangerous operation.

Behind me, Bronwen was teaching Turnip to bow for scraps while Brevan narrated it like a state ceremony. I considered the question. I thought of the camps, the fever, Soren, and the choices that had brought me here. Tonight I had exactly one regret.

“One,” I said.

He waited for me to explain. I could have made him ask, there in front of his family.

I set my cup down, said, “Good night, Rylos,” and walked out of the warmth into the corridor, unhurried, on my own clock. I did not look back.

RYLOS

Itold myself I was going to her quarters to end it.

The argument made sense on paper. Twelve people committed to the operation in nine hours. No margin for distraction. If I lost focus inside the Spire, people I loved could die. So I had decided to tell her this waited until after. Ninety seconds. I had even drafted the sentence.

My body had disagreed all day. Her scent registered before her footsteps. My fangs descended when she spoke over the comm.

I had split one stylus controlling my claws and slept forty minutes in two watches because every time I closed my eyes I saw her on the mat, coming on my hand while I remained hard enough to hurt. None of it impaired my judgment. It did make one thing obvious: judgment was not why I kept finding her.