The path from the cave back toward the heart of the Womb felt longer than it had on the way in.
Noah could still feel the cool breath of the underground river clinging to his skin, the faint echo of dripping water lodged somewhere behind his ribs. Out there, in the quiet, the constant heat and low-grade hum in his head had eased for the first time since arriving. Here, as the tunnels broadened and the Saint's world bled back in, that same heat began to creep up his neck again, a familiar hand pressed just a little too firmly against the base of his skull.
Cassian walked beside him until the mouth of a narrow intersection loomed ahead. "This is where I cut off," he said, gesturing lazily toward one of the lesser-used passages. "I'll see you soon."
"Yeah." Noah kept his voice neutral. Cassian's grin lingered a moment longer, but he didn't push. He just dipped his head in something halfway between a nod and a bow before vanishing into the shadowed vein of rock.
The rest of the walk was his alone.
He traced his steps through corridors of carved bone and stone, past silent doorways and watching Kindled. The false sun's glow spilled through latticework vents high above, turning the air into liquid gold and shadow. He caught himself rubbing at the back of his neck more than once.
By the time he reached the small quarters he shared with Abel, his chest felt tight. Not the bad kind — not danger — but the kind that said something important needed saying before it rotted in his throat.
Abel was exactly where Noah had expected him to be: sitting on the edge of his bed, sword across his lap, slow steady strokes of a whetstone whispering against the blade. The scent of oiled steel hung faintly in the air, grounding and familiar.
"You're back," Abel said without looking up. His voice was as even as always, but Noah could hear the undercurrent — that small, almost imperceptible check for injury before anything else.
"Yeah." Noah shut the door behind him, leaning against it for a second longer than necessary. "Took the scenic route."
That earned him a flicker of eye contact, just long enough for Abel's gaze to sweep over him. No wounds. No limp. But something in his expression must have given away more than Noah wanted, because Abel set the whetstone aside. "What happened?"
"Nothing… bad." Noah crossed the room, sat down on the opposite bed. "Actually… a few things."
Abel waited. That was the thing about him — he never rushed. He just gave you the space to decide if you were going to tell him the truth or waste both your time.
"First," Noah began, "I met with the priestess." He kept his eyes on Abel's, watching for the small shifts. "She's not here by choice. Tried to leave, got pulled back. Says everyone plays along because they don't have another option. But if there was one… she'd take it. With everyone else."
Abel's brows drew in just slightly, but his voice stayed level. "And you believe her."
"I do." Noah leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "She wants help. Our help."
Abel studied him, quiet enough that Noah could hear the faint ring of metal cooling from the last pass of the whetstone. "So you're saying you want to stay. Not just survive this place, but free them."
Noah nodded. "Yeah. I know it's dangerous. But if we can—"
"If we can," Abel cut in, not unkindly, "it will take more than wanting. The Saint has his claws in deep."
"I know." Noah let out a slow breath. "But running now feels like leaving people in a burning house because it's not ours."
Something in Abel's eyes shifted at that — not softening, exactly, but sharpening. He gave a single nod, the kind that meant he didn't need convincing anymore. "Then we plan."
Noah should have stopped there. Should have shoved the heavier thing back down where it could gnaw quietly until the right moment. But the longer he looked at Abel — at the immovable set of his shoulders, at the way his focus locked fully onto him and nowhere else — the less he wanted to let it fester.
"There's something else," he said, leaning back like that might make it easier. "Something I should tell you before it comes out sideways."
Abel's gaze didn't waver. "Go on."
"After the priestess, I went with Cassian. He showed me this place — underground river, quiet, different air. We talked." Noah's jaw worked once, then he forced the words out. "And… he kissed me."
The stillness that followed wasn't empty. It was coiled, like a blade just before it strikes. Abel didn't flinch, didn't scowl, but the slow curl of his fingers against his knee spoke enough.
"I told him no," Noah said quickly. "Not because I don't like him — I do — but what I feel for you is…" He exhaled hard, dragging a hand through his hair. "It's more. It's not even close, Abel. I didn't want you thinking I was hiding anything."
Abel's voice was low, almost flat, but the undertone had weight. "You're sure about that?"
"Yeah." Noah's pulse was uncomfortably loud in his ears. "I've been sure for a while. Even when it's terrifying. You're the one I want something real with."
Abel's head tilted, studying him like he was testing the truth of that. "You're not easy to be with. You take risks. You make trouble."
Noah's mouth quirked. "Maybe you're the only one who can actually handle that. Or maybe you're just too stubborn to give up."
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Abel rose — and up close, the difference between them was almost laughable. Abel filled the space, his broad shoulders blotting out half the lamplight, the carved lines of his chestplate and tunic stretching over muscle. Noah was suddenly, acutely aware of how much smaller he was, how he had to tip his chin up just to keep his gaze level.
Abel closed the space slowly, the quiet kind of slow that gave Noah all the time in the world to pull away if he wanted. He didn't.
The kiss was nothing like Cassian's reckless grab. This was steady, deliberate — the kind of kiss that anchored you instead of stealing you away. Noah felt the strength in the hand that brushed his shoulder, the heat of him so close, and leaned into it before his brain could second-guess.
When they broke apart, Noah's breath was too quick for how still they'd been. "Okay," he managed, and then — because the air felt too thick with everything unsaid — he blurted, "You know, I've been talking a big game about you kissing me and then just overwhelming me with some kind of epic, sweeping hug… and now you've gone and done it."
Abel's mouth twitched in something that might have been the shadow of a smirk. Then, without a word, he proved Noah right — or wrong, depending on how you looked at it. He hooked an arm under Noah's knees, another behind his back, and lifted him like he weighed nothing.
"Hey—!" Noah's protest was more startled than genuine, his hands gripping Abel's shoulders out of reflex.
Abel sat back down on the bed with Noah in his lap, settling him with the ease of someone handling a weapon they knew by touch alone. One arm stayed secure around him; the other came up to cradle the back of his head, pulling him into the warm solidness of his chest.
Noah's face burned, though he told himself it was just the room's heat. "You're ridiculous," he muttered, muffled by the fabric of Abel's tunic.
"No," Abel said quietly, voice low enough to hum through Noah's ribs, "I'm exactly where I want to be." His grip tightened fractionally. "No matter what you choose, I'll be with you. You saved my life. Freed my people. My family. That's not something I forget."
Noah shut his eyes. The warmth in Abel's voice was rare, and it was his — no audience, no witness. Just them, the lamplight, and the quiet toll of the Kindled bell somewhere far off, counting down the time until what they'd decided here would have to be acted on.
And for once, Noah didn't try to fill the silence.