On the road that followed, their rhythm slid back to the days right after they fled Balad, like wheels finding their beat on wind-scoured sand.

Adelaide no longer went lantern-red or thunder-fast at Mira’s nearness.

Mira, in turn, let out a quiet breath, the knot between her brows loosening like frost under sun.

And that wasn’t the only bright sign; the alarm from the draconic man’s kidnapping finally went still, like a bell cupped by a palm.

Mira still worried about a net cast in the dark, shadows stitched behind that man.

Adelaide eased her with clean, irrefutable logic, a blade of glass catching light.

In nearly a century, the only dragon slain was the one Dalahaman brought down, a scar still smoking in old songs.

If someone could work dragon parts, they had to be from Rockridge, their mark as sharp as a brand.

Most likely it was a lone scout who stumbled into them, a jackal borrowing thugs’ teeth because he knew he lacked claws.

By that logic, if they drove deeper into empty dunes, far from the Empire’s border, any pursuit would blow away like footprints in wind.

With that settled, the next month ran smooth as a still river under moon.

They ate together and read in the wagon, lamplight pooling like warm honey.

Adelaide liked to recline sideways on the bed and read, a cat soaking in sun behind canvas.

Mira usually sat on the small sofa, turning pages in hush, her fingers skimming like minnows.

Now and then she watched Adelaide from the corner of her eye, a sparrow peeking through reeds.

Adelaide would look up at times, her gaze a soft ripple over still water.

If their eyes met, Mira would wordlessly look away, a tide retreating without sound.

Adelaide’s mouth would curve into a light smile, the same quiet spark she wore when they rode the same camel on patrol, as if she simply savored the time beside her like tea held warm between palms.

The days were almost too peaceful, each one pressing onto the next like tracks repeating in sand.

Mira grew a little numb to the flow of time, as if this stretch would go on and never close, a horizon that kept stepping back.

Until Adelaide herself tossed a pebble into the stillness and cracked their glass-calm routine.

If you’re willing, please use our cabin.

Mira stared, stunned, at Adelaide raising her hand to the crowd, like a deer caught in lanternlight.

It was simple enough; the woman bitten by a snake had just cleared the venom-fog and stepped out to breathe air sharp as salt.

It happened to be the hottest day of the month, heat wavering like a mirage.

By the time people noticed something wrong, she was retching, a body buckling under a sun-hammer, deep in heatstroke.

In the desert, that kind of heatstroke is a blade at the throat, and someone must watch her like a lantern through night.

But her wagon cabin barely fit herself; add a caregiver and basins for cool cloths, and the walls pressed in like fists.

So they needed to borrow a larger wagon for a while, a patch of shade wider than a hand of sky.

The caravan leader understood and gathered everyone, his voice a steady drum, to ask if anyone would swap with the woman named Layati.

That was when Adelaide lifted her hand and called out those words, a spark offered into smoke.

Our cabin’s got plenty of space and two beds; the caregiver can lie down and rest when they’re spent, like a bow unstrung—what do you think?

She wasn’t wrong; the biggest, most comfortable wagon in the caravan belonged to Adelaide and Mira, General Slandor’s special favor, a canvas palace rolling over dunes.

It was the best answer to the crisis, yet everyone looked just as startled as Mira, as if a flock lifted all at once.

Mira tugged Adelaide’s sleeve, a quick hook like a fish’s bite, but before she could speak, the leader cut in.

This isn’t right; you two saved the caravan, heroes in our book—we can’t just take your wagon.

The leader looked truly torn, his gray-white brows arched high like gulls in wind.

He hadn’t even had the heart to summon them, yet Adelaide not only came to listen, she offered their cabin outright, a lamp thrust into cold.

To the leader with those storm-tossed brows, Adelaide only shook her head, calm as a well.

Heroes, nothing of the sort; it was only the lift of a hand, and nothing ranks above the caravan’s safety, like a roof in rain. It’s fine.

Since you put it that way, we’ll thank you on Layati’s behalf, from the bottom of our waterskins.

Cheering rose from the crowd, a ripple running through grain, and many stepped up to clasp her hand like passing warm stones.

Seeing it was decided, Mira let go of Adelaide’s hand and turned to pack in silence, settling like dust after wind.

Adelaide watched Mira’s gloomy back bend to the bundles, and her lips curled in a sly arc, a fox-smile under brush.

Mira, can’t sleep?

In the cramped space, Mira lay with her back to her, answering with silence thick as wool.

She wasn’t silent from anger, nor only because the clutter jabbed her ribs like pebbles; the truth was warmer and closer, like embers under cloth.

They lay back to back; even through Mira’s thick leather, Adelaide wore only a thin silk nightgown, and heat seeped through like spring through soil.

She drew a long breath, cool as midnight.

One… two.

Feel nothing; it’s only a few nights, like clouds passing, and once that woman recovers, they can return.

One… two.

Sharing a bed with Adelaide is just a last resort, a narrow cabin’s push, not anyone’s chosen wish, like two leaves pressed in one page.

If Adelaide says nothing, what right does she have to speak, like a shadow telling the sun to dim?

One… two.

Stop. Don’t think about that day, the spark that jumped like lightning on dry grass.

Mira let out the breath dammed in her chest, trying to sleep, or at least to smooth her heart and breath like a pond under rain.

But the effort kept shattering on the image of Adelaide astride her that day, a film that wouldn’t burn away.

The warmth through silk at her back whispered like a devil at her ear, and the moment she shut her eyes, she could feel soft, pale skin pressing like snow against her.

Her nape, under the scarf, prickled with an itch she couldn’t curb, a nettle of memory.

It was a strange feeling, like boiling wine down the throat, sting and sweetness running her body in sparks.

It felt as if her body—no, not just her body, even her spirit—longed to offer itself again, like incense curling toward a hidden flame.

Stop. Stop.

Mira’s long lashes trembled, but she kept her eyes shut and counted one, two, as if stringing beads in the dark.

Until the warmth behind her vanished all at once, like a candle cupped out.

At that instant of absence, a small loss opened in her chest, and half a heartbeat later she realized Adelaide had sat up.

…What is it?

Mira glanced over in confusion, only to see Adelaide press a finger to her lips, a hush like a feather.

Since we can’t sleep, why don’t we go do something fun, like thieves stealing a slice of moon?