Noah
Relief slipped through Noah as he caught the subtle curve of Deimos’ mouth. The smile—small as it was—was enough to break the taut wire wound in his chest. Instead of weight, there was air, and it left him steadier than he had been in seasons. He let the attuned bond slip looser, letting his emotions come through that were as they once were — there, steady, and not a barraging wave of grief.
Deimos’ question lingered, and Noah let himself turn it over in silence. He thought of a dozen things at once: of chasing luxere across the tundra, not for survival or duty but for the joy of the hunt; of flying with Marcus in his shifted forms until the sun burned out over the horizon; of helping Margot with her growing list of hobbies and tasks; of walking Halo’s streets talking with Ravenna without watching for the next shadow to strike. He thought of love, of friendship, of allowing himself to exist without constantly measuring his worth by how much he bled for others.
Freedom had always been a word for other men, never for him. And now—it was his.
When he finally lifted his gaze back to Deimos, there was a faint smile, too, tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The first thing I want to do,” he said, voice steadier than he expected, “is build a shrine. For Safrin. For Vi. In the Greenwing, near our lodge.” Noah’s hand brushed the stein idly, then he lifted it to finish the drink. His glacier eyes stayed fixed on his friend, calm and resolute now. “After that…well. We’ll see where the path leads.”
Deimos’ question lingered, and Noah let himself turn it over in silence. He thought of a dozen things at once: of chasing luxere across the tundra, not for survival or duty but for the joy of the hunt; of flying with Marcus in his shifted forms until the sun burned out over the horizon; of helping Margot with her growing list of hobbies and tasks; of walking Halo’s streets talking with Ravenna without watching for the next shadow to strike. He thought of love, of friendship, of allowing himself to exist without constantly measuring his worth by how much he bled for others.
Freedom had always been a word for other men, never for him. And now—it was his.
When he finally lifted his gaze back to Deimos, there was a faint smile, too, tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The first thing I want to do,” he said, voice steadier than he expected, “is build a shrine. For Safrin. For Vi. In the Greenwing, near our lodge.” Noah’s hand brushed the stein idly, then he lifted it to finish the drink. His glacier eyes stayed fixed on his friend, calm and resolute now. “After that…well. We’ll see where the path leads.”
