The Breath Between Storms (2)

The stone chamber pulsed with fading echoes of Spiral magic, the remnants of Lynchie's feat still shimmering faintly across the etched runes on the floor. A thin veil of dust hovered in the silence, catching specks of moonlight that slipped through the fractured ceiling. She sat at the center, knees drawn in, her chest rising unevenly with exhaustion—and something far more volatile.

Zev stood across from her, silent.

The distance between them was deceptively short, but every breath, every heartbeat, stretched it like a chasm. He hadn't moved since she collapsed into his arms after sealing the rift. His hand still bore the faint scorch mark from catching her mid-fall.

"You weren't supposed to do that alone," Zev said, voice low, strained. "You could've died."

"And you weren't supposed to follow me," she shot back, the weariness sharpening her tone instead of dulling it. "But here we are."

His jaw clenched, shadows flickering in the hollows of his cheekbones. "You think I care about the rules now?"

The Spiral residue crackled around her fingertips involuntarily. She looked down at her hands—pale, trembling, radiant. "I don't know what you care about anymore. One moment you're dragging me into the spiral storms, the next you're acting like..." Her breath caught. Like you'd bleed for me.

Zev took a step forward. "Say it."

Lynchie met his eyes. The silence cracked open.

"Like you still care."

The words hung between them like a blade. Zev didn't flinch. Instead, he moved closer, crouching before her so their faces nearly touched. The tension between them vibrated like the hum of Spiral wards before ignition.

"I do care," he murmured. "Too much."

Lynchie's heart gave a stuttering beat. "Then why do you keep pushing me to the edge?"

"Because," he said, eyes narrowing, "you were meant for the edge. You shine when you're cornered. You defy everything when you're pushed too far. That's how you survived this. That's how you've always survived."

She hated how part of her thrilled at his words, how deeply they rang in her bones—because he wasn't wrong.

"But maybe I don't want to survive like that anymore," she whispered, the words cracking. "Maybe I want someone who stands beside me, not behind or against me."

For a breath, Zev said nothing.

Then he reached up slowly, tracing a lock of ash-gold hair that had fallen across her brow. The gesture was maddeningly gentle, like he was afraid she'd shatter beneath his touch. Or maybe he was afraid he would.

"I don't know how to stand beside you," he admitted. "But I never stopped watching. Never stopped... choosing you."

"Even when it hurt?"

"Especially when it hurt."

Something inside her twisted—anger and longing, the way Spiral currents twist in contradictory coils. Her hand rose on instinct, palm pressing lightly against his chest. She felt the heat of him. The rhythm of his heart.

They were two storms pulled into the same current, spinning closer.

Then—footsteps echoed down the hallway. Fast. Urgent.

Zev stood at once, gaze hardening, the softness vanishing like mist under sunlight. Lynchie pushed herself to her feet, senses snapping alert.

It was Liron, breathless. "The southern wards have collapsed. The Mirror-Spoken breached the third boundary. The war has begun."

Lynchie's Spiral-lit gaze flickered to Zev. He nodded once, expression unreadable, all tenderness packed behind a soldier's resolve.

But as he turned to go, he paused—just long enough to glance back. "We finish this later."

She didn't say anything.

But she didn't look away.