"If the world falls to war again, let them know we woke once to sunlight, wrapped in peace, and called each other home."
The silence stretched again after my last words, but it had changed somehow. It was not the strained quiet of fear or waiting; it was heavier, more charged. I felt it between us, strung like a taut thread from my chest to his. Oberon still sat across from me, his body angled toward the fire, but his eyes were on me now. The way he looked at me used to unmake my resolve. It still did. The flames cast soft light across his face, illuminating the edge of his jaw, the scar that curved beneath his right eye, the shadow of stubble across his throat. He looked older than when I last saw him, but not weary. Hardened. Sharper and like a blade tempered by exile.
He had not said a word, but his silence was thick with unspoken things, and hence I broke the silence. "You're angry," I said quietly, not a question.
