The fire had dimmed to a low flicker, casting dancing shadows along the moss-covered stones.
Ash drifted in the soft morning wind as Saphira slung her pack over her shoulder. Killian followed, wordless as always, but his footsteps felt steadier than they had the day before. Maybe it was the rest. Or maybe it was the way her voice, despite being sharp, had cut through something else in him last night.
They walked through the forest, the trees shifting from tall pines to twisted oaks with bark like scarred flesh. The air was thicker here. Denser. A silence filled the space between them—not hostile, just… heavy with unspoken things.
Saphira glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He hadn't made a single sarcastic remark all morning. She half-missed it.
"Still not in the mood to complain?" she asked lightly.
Killian's lips twitched. "You miss it already?"
"Better than walking with a corpse."
"Would you prefer I talk your ears off?"
"No," she said, smirking faintly. "I'd prefer you keep trailing behind like a quiet little ghost."
He raised an eyebrow, finally meeting her gaze. "Ghosts don't flirt."
Her step faltered.
But before she could throw something sharp back, a crack split the air.
Branches snapping.
Then a whistle.
Killian's arm shot out, grabbing her shoulder and yanking her down just as an arrow sliced through where her head had been a second ago. She hit the ground hard, back against the earth, the sound of more arrows raining down around them.
"Ambush," Killian growled.
She rolled, already pulling a dagger from her boot, her other hand grabbing a blade from her belt. Around them, shadows moved—figures cloaked in grime and steel stepping from behind the trees. Bandits. At least seven. Maybe more.
Killian drew his twin blades in one smooth motion.
"Well," Saphira muttered, "I was getting bored."
The bandits didn't waste time.
They surged forward, yelling battle cries that echoed through the trees. Killian stepped in front of her without thinking, his blades flashing as they met the first wave. Steel clashed. Blood splattered. Saphira darted to the side, circling, striking fast and sharp like lightning.
One bandit lunged toward her—bigger, heavier. She ducked low, swept his legs out from under him, and drove her dagger into his side before spinning back to parry another attacker.
Killian moved like water, every strike efficient and brutal. But his eyes weren't just on the enemy—they kept flicking back to her. Watching her. Protecting her even when she didn't need it.
"You watching me fight or trying to keep up?" Saphira called breathlessly, dodging a blade.
"Just making sure you don't get blood on your pretty face."
"Worried about the face?"
"Always."
The tension broke for a heartbeat—just long enough for Killian to block a strike aimed at her back, spinning around to slam his elbow into the bandit's jaw. Saphira's breath hitched as she found herself shoulder to shoulder with him.
Their backs touched, pressed together, breathing hard.
"Back-to-back?" she said.
"Only way I trust you."
She smirked. "I could stab you."
"I'd let you," he said, voice low, voice raw.
Another bandit charged. Killian ducked, grabbed the man's arm mid-swing, and flipped him onto his back. Saphira finished him with a swift blade to the throat. Their movements were in sync—unspoken rhythm between killers.
Another came at her—fast.
Too fast.
Her foot slipped on blood-slicked earth.
Killian saw it, eyes wide.
He lunged without thinking, grabbed her around the waist, and twisted. They tumbled together, rolling through leaves and dirt, blades forgotten as their bodies slammed into the forest floor.
Killian's arm was around her. His weight pressed against her. His face—bare inches from hers.
Saphira blinked, stunned—not from the fall, but from him.
His hair had fallen into his eyes. A thin cut dripped red down his jaw. But it wasn't the blood or the bruises that made her breath catch—it was the way he looked at her.
Like she was something fragile in the middle of a battlefield.
Like the world was falling apart, and he didn't care about anything else but this—this exact second.
Her heart thundered.
He didn't move.
Neither did she.
His hand was still on her hip.
Her leg had tangled with his.
They were still breathing hard, but not from the fight anymore.
"I…" Killian started, but the words tangled.
A scream split the air—not hers. Not his.
Reality snapped back.
Killian rolled off her just as another bandit came into view. He grabbed his blade from the ground and threw it—straight into the man's chest.
Saphira sat up, gasping, her heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with danger.
Killian helped her up, his hand lingering on hers for a moment too long.
Then he stepped back.
"Are you—"
"I'm fine," she cut in. Her voice was a little too sharp.
He nodded, eyes unreadable.
They didn't talk about the fall.
They didn't talk about the way their hearts had beat like war drums.
They went back to fighting.
And when the last bandit fell, when the forest was quiet again, they stood there—both stained in blood, both panting, both pretending nothing had just happened.
Saphira walked a few steps away, kicking the nearest body.
"Amateurs," she muttered.
Killian wiped his blade on his sleeve, then looked at her again. "You're bleeding."
She looked down. A shallow cut along her arm. "I've had worse."
He didn't ask for permission. He walked up to her, pulled a cloth from his pack, and gently pressed it against the wound.
She didn't move.
He was quiet. Careful. His fingers brushed her skin, and for a second, she forgot where they were.
"Thank you," she said softly.
He looked up. "For what?"
"For pulling me down when that arrow came."
Killian hesitated. "You would've done the same."
"I would've let you get grazed a little first."
He laughed under his breath—an actual laugh—and she felt something tighten in her chest.
When he finished, he tied the cloth around her arm.
They were close again.
Too close.
She didn't move away.
Neither did he.
"You're not bad in a fight," she said.
He raised a brow. "Is that your version of a compliment?"
"Take it or leave it."
He looked at her, eyes darker now. "I'll take it."
For a second, she thought he was going to say something else. Maybe lean closer. Maybe—
"Let's move," he said instead, stepping back.
The moment shattered.
She followed, heart still pounding—not from the battle, but from the way his voice had dropped so low, so soft, like it had meant more than just moving forward.
They didn't talk much as they continued.
The trees grew quieter. The path steeper. The sun began to dip behind the horizon, casting gold across the canopy.
Saphira broke the silence first.
"You hesitated earlier."
He didn't look at her. "When?"
"When you looked at me. Right before we fell."
He was quiet for a long time.
Then, "I was thinking."
"About what?"
He finally glanced at her.
"About how easy it would be to forget everything… if I kissed you."
Her steps froze.
Her brain? Dead.
Her heart? Malfunctioning.
Killian kept walking like he hadn't just casually dropped a grenade into her soul.
She blinked at his back. "What did you just say?"
He didn't even turn. "You heard me."
"Oh, I heard you," she snapped, stomping forward to catch up with him, "I just wanted to confirm you've lost your entire mind."
He smirked, which made her want to punch him.
"You said I was good in a fight. I thought we were having a moment," he said innocently.
"That wasn't an invitation to flirt! That was me not stabbing you."
He turned, walking backward now, a stupid grin on his stupid, perfect face. "Is that your love language? Threats?"
"Yes! And you're dangerously close to making me fluent."
He chuckled, but the heat behind his eyes said he wasn't joking earlier.
Saphira rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. Under her breath, she grumbled,
"Of course. He's back to his flirty nonsense. I take back everything—I preferred the moody version of him. Can someone put him back in grumpy mode, please?"
Then she added, louder,
"Are you flirting or fighting? Make up your mind before I knock sense into you."
Killian chuckled.
"Can't I do both?"
Saphira groaned, tossing her hands in the air. "Why are you like this?"
Killian tilted his head. "Like what?"
"A trouble with an annoying attitude."
"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
"I hate you."
"You wish you did."
She stared at him. He stared back.
Then she stomped ahead of him, muttering something about men and their inability to shut up after a fight.
And yet…
She was smiling.