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He could tell she tried to harden her resolve, to keep the trembling in her voice at bay. Based on her words, this wasn’t the first time she’d been confronted by a stranger promising release, only to find new depths of cruelty. Trusting anyone now must seem like walking into a trap. And yet, as she studied him the tiniest flicker of hope shifted across herface.

He kept his expression calm, his voice steady. “I am not one of them,” he said, his tone firm but measured. “My name is Zar’Ryn. Iwas sent to retrieve you and the others.”

“Retrieve us?” Her voice cracked, and she shook her head. “What makes you think we’re just going to trust you? You could be leading us into something worse.”

“I could,” he acknowledged. “But I am not.”

Her defiance faltered, replaced by a flicker of doubt. Zar’Ryn took another step forward, noting how her breath quickened, the way her body tensed as if preparing for the worst. He stopped a safe distance away, lowering himself slightly to meet her gaze more evenly.

“What is your name?” he asked.

She hesitated, her lips pressing together to keep them from shaking. “Elara.”

“Elara,” he repeated, testing the sound of it. Her name suited her, delicate yet strong. “I will release you. But you must remain calm.”

Her laugh lacked humor. “I’ll do my best.”

With a nod, Zar’Ryn reached for the restraint controls. The glowing cuffs hissed softly as they disengaged, and Elara’s arms fell limply to her sides. She staggered, but he moved swiftly, catching her before she could collapse. Her limbs trembled, her skin cold against his palms.

The moment lingered longer than it should have. Though used to detachment and treating every mission as a series of objectives to be accomplished efficiently, this one was different. He wasn’t just rescuing a prisoner or a victim. She affected him in some strange way, making him acutely aware of her presence, her vulnerability, and the fragile strength underlyingit.

Her chill against the warmth of his skin unsettled him, cutting through the layers of discipline he had built overcenturies. He didn’t understand why he felt so drawn to her, why this interaction shook his usually unyielding composure.

He found it an unwelcome sensation, foreign and disquieting, yet impossible to ignore. But the feel of her distractedhim.

“Let me go,” she muttered, twisting weakly againsthim.

His grip tightened fractionally before he released her, stepping back with deliberate care, giving her space. She stumbled but remained upright, crossing her arms over her chest in a vain attempt to cover herself. Her gaze darted toward the open doorway, then back to Zar’Ryn.

“Why are you helping me?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almostwary.

“Because you need help,” he said simply. “And because the Marauders must be stopped.”

She studied him, her eyes narrowing. Her gaze swept over him, taking in his tall frame, the bronze sheen of his skin, and the faint luminescence of his eyes. Next she focused on his long, white hair, his inverted brows and pointed ears, before settling on his amethystgaze.

“You’re not human.”

“No.”

“You look like… like Jo’Nay.”

The mention of his comrade stirred something in him. “You know Jo’Nay?”

She nodded cautiously. “He’s my friend. Or… he was.”

“Then you know I am not your enemy,” Zar’Ryn said. “I am here to protect you, just as Jo’Nay would.”

Her posture softened slightly, though the tension in her shoulders remained. “If you’re really here to help, then we need to get the others. They’re in worse shape than me.”

Zar’Ryn nodded. “We will. But first, you need to dress.”

Elara’s cheeks flushed, and she tightened her arms around herself. Zar’Ryn frowned slightly, then removed his armor and swept his shirt over his head, leaving his torso bare. His skin shimmered faintly in the dim light, the musculature of a seasoned warrior evident in every line of his frame. Without a word, he extended the shirt toher.

Her eyes darted to his chest, then back to the shirt, hesitation flickering across her face. Her mind raced, and he could tell she was torn between the instinct to take what he offered and the vulnerability of accepting help from an alien stranger. He suspected the sight of his bare torso—awarrior’s frame, impossibly strong and almost otherworldly—only deepened her unease.

Hot color burned across her cheekbones, aconfusing mixture of embarrassment, anger, and something he couldn’t quite define. Why did he unsettle her like this? Slowly, she took the shirt from him, her fingers brushing his as shedid.

Zar’Ryn stiffened at the contact, an unexpected jolt running through him. Her touch was fleeting, yet it lingered, awarmth that seemed to etch itself into his skin. It disconcerted him—how something so small could pierce through the carefully constructed walls of detachment he had maintained for centuries.

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