The silence after the commander's "Understood" tasted false. Like ash over flame that still smoldered underneath.
Lindarion felt it. Even with his eyes closed, he heard the weight of their breaths shift, the scrape of steel in sheaths, the pulse of fear in their throats. A chamber of cowards, thinking themselves wolves.
The sword in his hand quivered against the stone. Hungry. Demanding. Shadows strained, begging to be let loose.
[System Alert: Vital signs unstable. Neural activity: fragmented. Suggestion—surrender to symbiosis.]
'Not yours,' he snarled inside his own head. His teeth clenched hard enough he tasted blood again. 'Never yours.'
Nysha's hand pressed firmer against him. He almost hated it, the gentleness of it, the reminder that he wasn't gone yet.
"Breathe slower," she whispered. Too soft for the humans. Only for him. "If you tear yourself further, I won't… I won't be able to stitch you back."
