Victor came to the Aerie that night without reason.
No crisis pulled him.The fortress had already sunk into its deep night rhythm, and still he knocked.
I opened the door. He stood there stripped of the day’s armor—no rank pins, shirt untucked on one side, hair disordered as if he had run his hands through it more than once.
“I was passing,” he said.
The corner of my mouth lifted. “The Aerie tower is never on the way to anything.”
He exhaled, a sound caught between admission and surrender. “I wanted to see you. No logistical excuse. None.”
I stepped aside. He entered, bringing with him the faint scent of pine, steel, and the long day he had carried on his shoulders. We settled into our places—me in the chair by the window, him on the low bench. The lamp burned low, casting warm gold
