That night, the territory feels almost too quiet.
Not empty.
Settled.
The sky is clear, and the moon hangs bright but no longer charged with impending convergence.
I stand on the ridge overlooking the western border and close my eyes briefly, testing for fluctuation.
Nothing spikes.
Nothing strains.
Axel joins me first, his presence grounding without conscious effort.
“I slept,” he says quietly.
“For the first time in weeks.”
Atticus steps up beside him, his energy warm but controlled.
“The ignition isn’t restless,” he admits.
The admission carries weight.
The bond hums between us, not as tension but as steady current.
“I was afraid I would break this place,” I say quietly.
Axel’s hand finds mine immediately.
“You completed it,” he replies.
Atticus’s palm settles at my bac
