When the core burns |18+

Sharp and unsteady

"Veyric." she said. No "sir." No rank.

Kael's gaze sharpened a fraction. "Oris."

She held the packet out. "Straight from Council relay. They said you'd want it in your hands immediately." He crossed the room to take it. Gloves brushed her fingers. Something unreadable passed between them. No smile, not exactly, but an ease that made my grip tighten on my pen until the plastic creaked.

Oris looked at me then. Not hostile. Just calculating. Like she was filing away a detail she might need. "New assistant?" She asked, idle on the surface.

"Leave it." Kael said. Even voice, undertone that made her mouth twitch like she'd confirmed something. She handed him a second object. A compact piece of Core tech no bigger than my palm. Hairline fractures mapped its surface in a faint, dangerous red. "Unstable. Needs a reset."

The blue at his throat flared, just a shade brighter. "Of course it does." He set the packet on his desk without looking away from the fractured device, then flicked his gaze to me. "You're assisting."

"With... that?"

"Yes. Tools." He was already moving to the workbench by the wall, stripping his gloves in motion. Oris's curiosity widened to open interest for half a heartbeat, then she stepped backward to the door.

"Good luck." She said, and I wasn't sure who she meant. The door hissed closed. We were alone with the broken thing bleeding red across steel.

"Now," Kael said, eyes on the device, sleeves pushed back, "you're going to keep your hands steady and your mouth shut. Understood?"

I crossed to the bench, pulse quickening for reasons that weren't only the glow. "Understood."

"Closer." He said. Not a suggestion. The cool edge of the table pressed into my hips. He flipped open a slim case then plucked out a fine-point calibrator and set it in my palm. His skin didn't touch mine. It felt like it had. "Hold that over the fracture line." He murmured, leaning just enough that his voice folded along the shell of my ear. I swallowed and focused on the pulsing seam, willing my hands to stay still. He reached past to adjust a setting. His chest brushed my arm, solid through thin layers.

"Not like that." He said softly, and his fingers ghosted over mine, repositioning with maddening care. A clean little charge zipped up my wrist, hot and quick, like the air itself had gone conductive. I dared a glance up. His eyes stayed lowered, locked on the crack's glow. His jaw was tight. His breathing slowed. "Don't look at me." His voice dropped in a way that didn't sound like a rule he wanted.

I stared at the seam until the red dimmed to orange. A curl fell forward into my view, bright in the light. Without thinking, he brushed it back with the backs of his fingers. Nothing, and still my stomach flipped.

We held the alignment until the fractures' pulse slowed. When he finally stepped back, cool air rushed into the space his body had been filling. He snapped the case shut too hard. "That's done." The commander's voice again. But the tension in his shoulders, the tick in his jaw, gave him away. He reached for the sealed packet Oris had delivered. "Back to your desk. I need to make a call." I turned, catching the quick, sharp way his gaze followed as if he couldn't help it.

He crossed to the door in long, precise strides. The panel hissed as it slid mostly closed. Not sealed. A narrow gap no wider than my finger. I told myself to focus on the console's hum. On work. On anything that wasn't the phantom heat on my skin where he'd stood too close. Then his voice, low and compressed, bled into the office.

"...No. That's not the issue." A pause. The faint shift of weight against polished floor outside.

Another pause.

"...Nerya..." My name landed hard, heavy in my chest. The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was containment, like I could feel him standing perfectly still just beyond the wall, locking everything inside. When he returned, his mask was back in place, but the edge in his eyes betrayed it. He lined his gloves with the desk's edge, flicked through his datapad as though nothing had slipped. And yet, his gaze kept flicking to me.

Until finally, he crossed the space. Not toward his chair. Toward me. His steps were soft, steady. The air tugged toward him like gravity. My hands fumbled on the terminal, pretending to work. He set a stack of files beside my keyboard. His sleeve brushed my arm. It was nothing. A fraction of contact. And still, my breath caught. "Shipment logs," he said, voice low but even. "After that, the weekend inventory requests."

I nodded quickly, eyes down, heart hammering. His presence lingered a beat too long, shadow stretching over my desk. Then he went back to his desk. His jaw tightened like that small distance had cost him. "Focus." He said, almost like he was reminding himself as much as me.

The office was too quiet. My hands shook faintly on the files he had dropped onto my desk.

The door hissed open again.

Lyra stepped inside.

Her heels clicked against the floor, unhurried, deliberate. She didn't look at me. Not once. Her entire body angled toward Kael as if the rest of the room didn't exist. "Commander Veyric," she greeted, her voice warm, almost intimate. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

She didn't wait for him to answer. She drifted closer, her smile widening as she reached his desk. With one fluid motion, she perched herself on the corner, crossing her legs in a smooth line of fabric and polished steel.

Kael's posture went stiff. Too stiff.

Her hand rose, brushing across his shoulder with practiced ease, fingers dragging lightly along the seam of his jacket. "It feels like ages since we've spoken properly. You've been far too busy for me." She leaned in, laughter feathering low. "Don't tell me you've forgotten how to enjoy yourself."

Kael didn't respond. His jaw tightened, but he didn't pull away.

Lyra tilted her head, studying him like he was hers to assess. "You'll be pleased to know my father has asked about you again. He speaks very highly of you like he always does." Her eyes glittered. "He's invited you to dinner at our estate this weekend. I'll be there, of course." She let the words sink in, her nails brushing just a fraction against the edge of his collar. "Finally, a chance to have you to myself."

The air thinned in my lungs. Her tone wasn't professional. It wasn't even subtle. It was a declaration, a promise aimed straight at me without her ever looking my way. Heat climbed into my face, hot and tight. I gripped the files in front of me until the edges bent. Kael's gaze flicked to me. A flash of something I wasn't supposed to see, regret, before his mask slipped back into place.

Lyra laughed again, the sound light but sharpened. "You should feel honored. My father doesn't extend invitations lightly." Her hand lingered on his shoulder, then slid down his arm, pausing at his wrist. "And neither do I."

Kael didn't move her. Couldn't. I knew why. Lyra's father was too important to the Council, his influence woven into everything. To reject her publicly, even privately, could shatter more than just appearances. Still, watching him sit there, letting her touch him, made something in my chest twist until it hurt to breathe. She leaned closer, her smile turning sly. "Perhaps after dinner we can steal a moment, just you and me. We've both been far too... restrained." Her voice dropped lower, almost purring. "Don't you agree?"

The silence in the room pulsed.

Finally, Kael spoke. His voice was quiet, too even. "Your father's invitation will be considered."

Lyra's eyes lit, triumphant. "Good." She slid from the desk with feline grace, brushing her hand one last time across his sleeve. "I'll tell him to expect you. Don't keep me waiting, Kael."

She said his name like a promise. Like a claim. The door hissed closed behind her, leaving silence in her wake. I forced my eyes to the files, but they blurred, swimming under heat. My throat ached from holding back the words I wanted to throw. Get away from him. Don't touch him. He's not yours.

I didn't dare speak them.

When I finally glanced up, Kael was already looking at me. His expression was tight, pained, softer than I'd ever seen it. Almost like he wanted to apologize. Almost like he wanted to say something he wasn't allowed.

My pulse roared, sharp and unsteady.