Rain whispered on the ruined stone roof like a lullaby sung through broken teeth.
The others had curled into their places again—reluctantly, tensely.
Zeraka still claimed Rein's right side, one arm slung across his chest with faux-sleeping possessiveness.
Valaithe leaned her back against his, quietly humming something old and off-key. Elaris took her usual post at the wall, ever-vigilant.
And Caelia… sat apart.
Near the fallen pews.
Alone.
Not exiled, not forced—but separated by something heavier than space.
Rein watched her from the fire's edge.
She sat straight-backed, rainwater beading across her armor in fine rivulets. Her posture was pristine, ritual-perfect.
But her left shoulder sagged slightly—just enough for someone watching closely to catch.
Rein rose, brushing off Zeraka's grip.
She made a dissatisfied sound in her sleep—but didn't wake.
He crossed the distance quietly.
Caelia didn't look up until he stood beside her.
"It's fine," she said immediately, voice clipped. "Just bruised. No divine bleed."
"Let me see," he said.
"It's nothing."
"Then it's nothing to show."
He knelt.
She froze.
He reached slowly, like approaching a wounded bird.
Fingers near her breastplate, not touching yet.
She didn't move.
Then—gently—he undid the clasps along her shoulder guard.
They clicked open with soft metallic sounds, like confessions escaping one at a time.
The armor shifted.
So did she.
Beneath the plate, her undershirt was soaked through and dark near the joint.
A jagged purple bruise spread from her collarbone to the upper curve of her bicep—fierce and unhealed.
"Was it from training?"
"No," she said quietly.
"From when I left the sanctuary. The Order… doesn't accept uncertainty."
Rein didn't reply.
He just pulled a clean cloth from his belt pouch, dabbed it in a flask of water, and gently began to clean the area—careful, soft, methodical.
Caelia stared straight ahead.
But she trembled.
"You… touch like someone who doesn't expect to be obeyed."
"I don't."
"Why?"
He looked up at her.
Her face was too calm. Too controlled. But her pulse at her throat betrayed her.
"Because I don't need to be."
Silence again.
Except not empty.
Not here.
His hand moved slower now—more a gesture of presence than treatment.
The wound was minor. The real wound was something else.
Something deeper.
He pulled her collar up slightly to shield the bruise from the cold.
She inhaled.
"Thank you," she said, softer than he'd ever heard her speak.
"You're welcome."
"You shouldn't be."
He stood and stepped back.
She didn't rise.
But when he turned to leave, her voice followed him, "You shouldn't be kind to me."
"It's not safe."
He paused, then looked over his shoulder.
"It's never been safe here."
Zeraka had stirred by the time he returned.
She didn't say a word.
Just looked at him for a long time, eyes narrowed.
Valaithe lifted her head lazily and murmured,
"Careful, love. That one's got a savior kink."
Rein ignored her.
But he noticed Caelia didn't return to prayer that night.
She just sat.
Watching her own hands.
Like they'd touched something holy and come back unworthy.
Caelia didn't sleep.
Not because of discomfort—though the holy ruin's floor was cracked and wet, and her armor dug into her ribs whenever she shifted.
She didn't sleep because she was watching them.
Watching him.
Rein didn't retreat to the center like a leader.
He didn't command the space.
He barely spoke.
But the others… they orbited him like moons pulled by gravity, not choice.
Zeraka had curled beside him again, one clawed hand resting possessively on his chest like she'd been born with it there.
Her eyes were closed, but every muscle in her body was ready to spring.
A predator on pause.
Valaithe sprawled across Rein's legs, humming something tuneless while twisting blades of grass into tiny rings.
Her fingers brushed his thigh now and then—not absentmindedly. Not carelessly.
On purpose.
Even Elaris, who rarely touched anyone, had chosen to rest with her sword across her knees, seated close enough to Rein that her shadow crossed his shoulder.
Iris stood in the shadows—unmoving.
Watching them all.
Caelia sat by the collapsed pew and felt… alien.
She'd known intimacy, in the abstract.
Camaraderie.
Brotherhood.
Prayer circles.
Sparring drills.
But this?
This was a different animal.
The girls didn't just want to protect him.
They wanted to consume him.
Completely.
To curl inside his bones.
To war over which one could love him best, loudest, most violently.
Zeraka stirred first.
Still half-asleep, she grumbled and turned in toward Rein's chest.
Her voice was low, thick with warmth that didn't match her usual snarl.
"Too far. Come closer…"
Rein shifted.
Didn't push her away.
His hand rose, instinctively, and cradled the back of her head.
Caelia watched the movement like it was a dagger unsheathed beside her throat.
Valaithe sighed happily and tossed a few of the grass rings onto Rein's chest.
"He doesn't even know he's being courted," she murmured. "Isn't that adorable?"
Zeraka grunted.
"He knows."
Valaithe tilted her head.
"Then why isn't he running?"
Zeraka smiled without teeth.
"Because we ruined all the exits."
Caelia stood abruptly.
The sudden motion caught Rein's eye. He looked up.
"Can't sleep?"
She hesitated.
Then, "Do they always do this?"
"Define this."
"Hover. Guard. Touch."
"...More lately."
He rubbed the back of his neck. Looked sheepish.
"I guess, at one point I stopped telling them not to."
Caelia stared at him.
Then at his hands.
They weren't large or calloused.
No warrior's scars.
Just the hands of someone who'd tended, not wounded.
"You make it hard to see the heresy," she said quietly.
Valaithe overheard.
She stretched luxuriously and called out,
"Sweetheart, if you're looking that close, the heresy's already inside you."
Zeraka's tail flicked like a whip.
Iris smiled in the dark, the expression bone-thin.
Rein stood slowly.
Walked toward Caelia—not close, but closer.
"You're not part of this. Not yet."
"I don't want to be," she lied.
"Then you're free to leave."
"I know."
She looked at him.
"But I'm still here."
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
Then Elaris said, without looking up.
"You won't be the last."