Page 44 of Fourth

His hand flexed once, unconsciously, fighting the slow burn that scorched through his blood. But beneath that calculation, his body resisted every forward step like a system running against corruptedcode.

Muscles locked against compulsion, breath dragging slower than it should have, each movement cautious when it should have been automatic. This was not just a homecoming. It was a reckoning, one his body remembered even when his mind tried notto.

Maya drifted from room to room, her fingers trailing along the curved walls, fingertips grazing the living textures like she was memorizing them. Her touch lingered at the edges of archways, tracing the pulse of light veining through the stone. Every now and then, she paused in a doorway or by a window space, her gaze flicking toward Riv’En, catching him watching her, silent and tense in the center of itall.

Her voice broke the quiet, soft but sure, threading into the charged silence between them. “You really don’t like people seeing through to the real you, do you?”

“No.” Short. Abrupt. Definite.

Her gaze flicked around the open layout again, at the living walls and transparent vine sheets in place of solid doors. Then back to Riv’En. Her brow furrowed slightly, thoughtful rather than accusing. “Is it because of Final Flight? Or just... everything? The way this place breathes, the way everything here is exposed, yet some parts concealed... like you built your entire world to keep things both open and hidden.”

Riv’En hesitated, as if weighing each word before he spoke. “It is both,” he said at last, voice low and rough-edged. “When Final Flight begins, there is no hiding. Strength, restraint—all of it burns away. And before that, there was always distance. Not fear. Function. Self-discipline. Letting anyone too close weakens that.” His gaze shifted to her, steady and unreadable. “This place holds both: what I allow others to see... and what I keep only for myself.”

Her voice dropped lower, more certain. “You don’t want anyone to see more than what you allow, is that it?” Her gaze flicked around the open layout again, at the living walls and transparent vine sheets in place of solid doors. Then back to Riv’En. “Because of Final Flight? Or because it is just easier not to let anyone in?” Her tone wasn’t sharp, just quietly curious, like she was trying to fit the last piece of a puzzle she had already half-solved.

He stilled, as though steadying himself against the moment rather than reacting. “It is unnecessary.” His voice stayed low, but there was a force behind it now. “Elaroin homes are designed to breathe with their inhabitants. Privacy here is not about walls or locked doors. It is about presence. When my Final Flight begins, there will be no hiding it. No shutting it away. Iprefer not to allow others to witness that.” His gaze flicked toward her, steady and unreadable. “It is not shame. It is discretion.”

Her lips tilted. Almost a smile. “That is not weakness,” she said quietly. Her gaze lingered on him, steady now. “Letting someone see. It is not losing dominion.” She turned then, full into his space, voice quieter still. “I want to see all of it. Your home. Your world. And whatever part of you, you think does not exist anymore.”

Riv’En’s breath locked in his throat. Her words should not have carried the intensity they did, but they wrapped around him, settled like a living thing under his skin. The light from the windows caught her hair again, bathing her in warm silver. He lifted one hand without thinking, fingers brushing a stray strand back from her cheek. Her skin was warm. Too warm. Or maybe that washim.

Her gaze didn’t flicker. Her voice dropped even lower. “You always get so still when I say things like that.”

“Because I do not know how to respond,” he admitted quietly. “You unsettle me.”

“I am not trying to.” Her smile softened, but her gaze did not waver. It held steady on him, tracing every flicker of tension in his face, every subtle shift in his eyes. “I just... Iwant to know the parts of you no one else gets to see. Not because I want to push past your wants and needs. Not to make things harder for you. Iwant to understand the things you do not say out loud. The things you hide so carefully. Because those are the parts that matter most.”

He cupped her chin then, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. “Maya...”

“Yes?” Her voice caught on that single word, barely above a whisper.

“I do not know if I have any parts left to share.”

Her hand covered his, fingers curling tight. “That’s not true. You do. And I’ll see them all.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The silence between them stretched, threaded through with heat and something deeper. His pulse pounded like a war drum beneath his skin, and her touch—light, certain—was the only thing holding him steady to the ground.

Her breath hitched. Not in fear. Never in fear. But a tension filled her, underscored by the subtle way her fingers curled tighter against his. And in that moment, something shifted in him. It was not consideration. Not reason honed for war. It was her choice. He could sense it as keenly as his own pulse. Maya was choosing this. Choosinghim.

Her certainty pressed against him through every contact point—the press of her hand, the shallow catch of her breath. It filled his chest, hot and sharp, far more than battle or command. Her stillness was not hesitation. It was resolve settling into place. Her presence did not unbalance him. It steadiedhim.

When he spoke again, his voice was so quiet it was nearly lost in the ambient pulse of the living walls. “I want you here. Always.”

She didn’t pull away. Her voice shook, just a little. “Then show me. Show me everything.”

Riv’En didn’t move for a long breath after her words. The pulse in his veins thundered so loud it drowned out everything else—the quiet hum of the walls, the living pulse of Elaros beneath his feet, even the measured cadence of Maya’s breath. Only her words remained.Show me everything.

His hand dropped from her cheek, sliding instead to the back of her neck, fingers threading into the silk of her hair. Hedidn’t drag her closer—didn’t need to. She was already there, body angled into his like they were two halves of a precious whole. His thumb brushed slowly along the curve where her neck met her shoulder, memorizing the warmth of her skin, the exact point where her pulse quickened beneath his touch.

“This is not what I planned,” he said, voice rough, unused. “Not what I intended.”

“I don’t care,” she answered, just as rough, just as quiet. Her fingers slid up his arm, mapping the hard lines of muscle there, slow and sure. “I want this. Iwant you.”

His self-discipline should have been stronger. It always had been. But there was nothing premeditated in the way he lowered his mouth to hers. Nothing careful. The kiss wasn’t a question. It was a claim. Asurrender. One that didn’t leave room for hesitation.

Her mouth opened under his on a sharp breath, her body arching against his. He caught her in both hands, lifting her as though she weighed nothing, pinning her back gently against the nearest wall. The living vines shifted with them, molding around her form without resistance, cradling her instead of pressinghard.

The heat rising in him was no longer the consuming fire of Final Flight—it was different. Sharper. Steady. Channeled into her. The press of her thighs around him. The whisper of her breath caught between their mouths. His hands slid down, mapping the curve of her breasts, her waist, the shape of her body beneath his palms. It wasn’t enough. Would never be enough.

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