Page 52 of Fourth

Maya broke through the guards with a sudden, fierce strength, dodging hands meant to hold her back. “Move!” she snapped, voice breaking as she shoved past them. “Let me—”

“Through,” Anya said at the same time, voice steady and urgent as she stepped forward. Their words overlapped, Maya shouting as Anya spoke, but neither slowed.

Maya crossed the clearing in seconds, her breath ragged, eyes locked on her sister. She threw herself into Anya’s arms,fingers clutching tightly, both of them speaking at once now in broken phrases:

“Anya, Ithought you were—”

“Dead, Iknow. And I was afraid you—”

“Were captured. Iwas.” Anya echoed, arms wrapped tight around Maya as her own breath hitched.

The reunion was sharp and tearful, filled with emotion neither of them tried to hide. The others gave them space, stepping back as Maya clung to her sister, her voice breaking again on a whisper. “You’re really here.”

Only once they pulled apart did the group move inside Riv’En’s home. The guards secured the perimeter, but the tension eased slightly as they entered the cool interior.

The group fanned out automatically. Alpha Unit held to the walls, automatically keeping Riv’En and Maya in their line of sight. Vaeyra remained near the entrance, flanked by two silent attendants in silver-gray armor that shimmered faintly like liquid metal. Their faces were obscured by smooth masks, their postures still and unyielding, marking them as Elaroin Sentinels—the Council’s chosen guards.

Maya stayed close to Anya, both of them sitting at the central table without waiting for invitation.

Introductions were made with practiced formality, but each man carried the power of his purpose like a blade worn just under the skin. Tor’Vek’s voice came first, crisp and clinical, though the wear of recent events showed faintly at the corners of his mouth. “You know me as Third. Tor’Vek. Alpha Unit scientist and healer.” His black-and-white hair caught the dim light, astark reminder of what he’d survived.

Next, Locus stepped forward. Though introduced as Fifth, he was nothing so abstract up close. His bulk carried the quiet confidence of someone who’d walked through explosions and simply kept going. His uniform was still dusty from the landing, asmear of soot trailing across one shoulder like a half-finished warning.

“Fifth,” he said, voice low and unhurried. “Locus. Iam Sixth’s Enforcer.” His gaze swept the room, assessing, not with suspicion, but as if automatically noting structural weaknesses and exits. “Forgive the state of my uniform,” he added, voice level as if reporting weather. “The encounter with your pursuers proved… inefficient for my outer layer.”

Sixth followed next, his movements smooth, silent, more a ripple of presence than a man. “Apex,” he said, offering only his name, as though that said itall.

The title hung in the air, and everyone sensed it. His voice came low, unassuming, but there was an edge beneath it, like steel beneath silk. The blue streak at his temple glinted faintly as he moved his head. Even when he wasn’t moving, his presence was like a tide waiting to rise—dense, still, with the certainty of a strike that never missed. Even standing still, there was something wound tight about him, as if waiting for a signal that hadn’t yetcome.

Fifth added, “We are here with Alpha Unit orders: to confirm Maya’s condition, ensure no contamination remains, and verify Elaros remains secure.”

Tor’Vek glanced toward Riv’En, the unspoken connection between them settling in the air. Then he spoke again, quieter this time. “We trust your scans, Fourth, as well as those made by the Elaroin Council, but we need to be absolutely certain Selyr didn’t contaminate her. With your permission, and withVaeyra’s and Maya’s consent, Irequest authorization to conduct a brief scan. My equipment is specially programmed to detect Selyr’s contamination. It is necessary to confirm Maya has not been poisoned—by any means.”

Vaeyra inclined her head once. “You have the Council’s consent.”

Riv’En’s voice followed, steady. “You have mine. Proceed.”

All eyes turned to Maya. Her hands curled into fists against the table before she gave a single, tense nod. “Fine. Do it.”

Only after a long breath did Tor’Vek finally speak, his voice low and formal: “Begin verification.” He stepped forward, scanning Maya with quiet attention and Anya reached across the table, catching her sister’s hand inhers.

“Just breathe,” Anya said quietly. “It’s just a scan.”

Third’s face remained unreadable as he studied the results. “There is a tracking device,” he said finally. “Subdermal. Very small. Viral.”

Riv’En’s voice came low and urgent. “Remove it. Now.”

Third nodded once, retrieving a tool from his belt. With careful efficiency, he neutralized, then destroyed the device. Maya flinched, her fingers tightening around Anya’s. Her face had gone pale, lips pressed together in a thin line, her gaze darting between Tor’Vek and Riv’En as if the ground beneath her had shifted.

Riv’En stepped closer, moving to her side without a word, and rested a steady hand on her shoulder. His grip was firm, as though reminding her she was not alone.

Without a word, Maya stood and wrapped herself in Riv’En’s arms. Her breath caught the instant she touched him, as ifthe solidness of his chest against her own helped her find her balance again. His arms closed around her automatically, pulling her in with a steady strength, less like possession and more like shelter.

Her face pressed against his shoulder, her pulse racing as she breathed in the faint, sharp scent that was uniquely his. Riv’En’s hand slid to the small of her back, holding her there with quiet certainty, as though releasing her was not an option he would allow.

As soon as Maya’s body pressed fully against his own he sensed a shift in equilibrium he had not anticipated. Her warmth seeped through every layer of him, her pulse rapid against his chest. He did not understand why it mattered so much that she was steady in his arms, only that it did. That her scent, the quiet catch of her breath, settled something volatile in his core. His grip firmed slightly, ensuring she could not pull away, as though even the smallest gap would unravel both ofthem.

He had faced battle, deadly wounds, Final Flight. But this—her seeking him out, wrapping herself around him in silent trust—felt like the most dangerous thing of all. And he did not want to letgo.

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