Page 45 of Zayrik

Zep chirped low from my shoulder, his body shifting as he sensed my distress. “Don’t say it,” I muttered, my voice rougher than I wanted it to be.

He said it anyway. A soft, scolding trill that sounded entirely too much like you’re in trouble now. Like he knew exactly how deep I’d fallen.

“I know,” I hissed, ducking into the supply room and slamming the door shut behind me. The metal rang with the impact, the sound echoing my fractured thoughts. The air was cooler in here, stale with the scent of old ration packs and sterilized storage units. Good. Better.

No midnight blue stare boring into my soul. No heat curling low in my belly like a living thing. No dangerous voice that made my skin remember every inch he touched; every place his hands had branded me.

Just me. And my very, very bad decisions.

And the crystal burning a hole in my jacket pocket, reminding me why I couldn’t afford distractions.

I slumped against the wall, letting my head fall back with a quiet thud. The cold metal seeped through my clothes, grounding me. Reminding me what was real.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

None of this was part of the plan.

He was a Protectorate warrior. Dangerous. Determined. Every look, every touch, every moment of understanding chipped away at walls I’d spent years building.

The kiss wasn’t about attraction. It wasn’t about lust. Not entirely.

It was panic. Desperation.

A crack in the armor I’d kept sealed for too long.

The moment when walking away became harder than staying.

But that didn’t change what it had felt like.

The press of his mouth, firm but gentle in a way that stirred emotions I wasn’t ready to confront. The steady heat of his body, solid and real when everything else in my life felt like shifting sand. The way I’d melted like I’d been holding my breath for years, and he was the only air left in the galaxy. Like every defense I’d built meant nothing against the way he looked at me.

I dragged a hand over my face, feeling the heat in my cheeks, the tremor in my fingers.

There was no space for this. No space for him.

No room for the way my body still hummed with awareness, like it had been rewired to respond to his presence alone.

Not when Vask was still out there, probably already tracking us. Not with the crystal in my jacket holding the power to burn an empire to ash. Reminding me of everything I stood to lose. Of everyone I could get killed if I let myself be distracted.

I was already in too deep.

Too close to something I couldn’t have.

Too close to someone who made me want to stop running.

I pushed off the wall, standing straight. Forced my spine to stiffen, my shoulders to square. Tried to steel myself against the memory of his hands, his mouth, the way he’d looked at me like I was something worth keeping.

“Get it together, Nyla.”

I meant it as a command.

But my voice cracked.

Betraying every emotion I was trying to bury.

Because if Zayrik touched me again—

If he looked at me with those eyes that saw too much—

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