"I needed this," he said, his voice muffled against her skin. "Gods, I needed this."
Aylin didn't answer with words. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gripped the back of his cloak, her fingers burying into the tangled, half-frozen fabric. He felt like stone and fire, with too many unspoken things pressing against her. The scent of iron, snow, and something older clung to him like a shadow.
But they weren't alone. Not yet.
"Sasha," she whispered softly—low, but with the weight of a command. Her lips brushed his temple. "Come with me."
His breath hitched. His shoulders tightened—one last tremor, one last hesitation—before he drew back just enough to see her face.
Her eyes were steady. Calm. Not afraid.
He nodded once.
Without saying a word, she reached for his scarred, cold hand and turned. Sasha followed without resistance.
