Aqua’s POV
I woke before Steven and knew immediately that I had slept too deeply.
Not peacefully.
Deeply.
As if my body had fallen somewhere during the night and only part of me had climbed back out.
For a few breaths, I stayed beneath the blanket and listened to Steven breathe beside me.
His hand rested close to mine.
Loose in sleep.
His wedding band caught a thin line of morning light.
He looked peaceful.
That helped.
It should have helped more.
I closed my eyes and reached inward.
Currena answered.
Slowly.
Not gone.
Not damaged.
Only sluggish.
Like water beneath winter glass.
I breathed carefully.
Steven had never touched my core.
Never taken my Currena.
I knew that.
Fang knew that.
Steven knew it too.
But my body still had to make what I kept giving away.
Love did not appear from nowhere simply because it felt warm when it left.
I knew that now too.
I turned toward Steven.
His hair was messy against the pillow.
Without worry tightening his face, he looked younger.
Softer.
The way he had before every new fear in this world taught him another reason to doubt himself.
He had been doing better.
That thought had become my excuse for too many things.
Steven came home smiling now.
His hands shook less.
His fire answered him.
His shoulders had begun filling out from training.
He spoke about Dylan’s drills like they were problems he could solve instead of proof that something inside him was dangerous.
I had helped.
A small part of me loved knowing that.
Not because I wanted Steven dependent on me.
I did not.
I wanted him strong enough that he never needed this again.
But Steven had a terrible habit of deciding that loving someone meant keeping every difficult thing away from them.
He carried fear alone.
Failure alone.
Responsibility alone.
I wanted to stand beside him.
Not wait at home while he fought himself somewhere I could not reach.
I wanted to help.
As his wife.
As his partner.
Maybe that was why saying no had become harder than it should have been.
Because when Steven reached for the love between us, I did not feel left behind.
I felt useful.
The word made something uncomfortable move in my chest.
Across the room, Fang opened his yellow eyes.
He had been curled on the chair near the bed.
Watching.
Always watching.
I looked at him.
“One careful day.”
His tail tapped twice.
No.
I smiled faintly.
“I know.”
Again.
No.
“But I promised.”
His stare sharpened.
That was worse than the tail.
I looked back at Steven.
“One careful day,” I whispered.
Then I closed my eyes again.
Breakfast was already finished by the time Steven reached for me.
Toast.
Fruit.
Tea.
Nothing heavy.
Nothing that had required me to stand long enough for him to notice my legs felt strange.
Steven had Dylan’s folder tucked under one arm.
Of course he did.
He had tried leaving it in the sitting room.
Then moved it to the kitchen.
Then opened it while drinking tea.
Then closed it when he noticed me watching.
He was trying very hard to look like a person who had agreed to one careful day.
I knew better.
“So,” I said.
Steven looked up.
“So?”
“You are going to train.”
His eyes immediately went to Fang.
Fang stared back.
“I didn't say anything.”
“You didn't have to.”
Steven rubbed the back of his neck.
“We don't have to do anything today.”
“I know.”
“We could rest again.”
“I know.”
His gaze searched mine.
“If you're tired—”
“I am a little tired.”
His face changed immediately.
I reached across the table.
“Steven.”
“We can stop.”
“I know.”
“Completely.”
“I know.”
He looked at my hand over his.
“We don't have to prove anything.”
That made me smile.
“You say that like you believe it.”
He gave me a look.
“I am working on it.”
“So am I.”
The kitchen went quiet.
Morning light spilled through the French doors.
Fang sat coiled on the chair beside the wall.
Watching both of us.
Judging both of us.
Probably correctly.
Steven's thumb moved slowly over my knuckles.
“Usual amount?”
I nodded.
“No more.”
“No more.”
“And if anything feels wrong—”
“I tell you.”
“No pretending.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“You first.”
“That isn't fair.”
“It is extremely fair.”
His mouth twitched.
Then the humor faded.
“Aqua.”
“I'll tell you.”
He searched my face one last time.
Then stood.
Slowly.
Giving me time to change my mind.
I stood too.
My body felt heavy.
Not enough to show.
I hoped.
Steven touched my waist.
The warmth between us rose almost before he kissed me.
I could not see love aura the way he could.
But I felt it.
Always.
That soft closeness that gathered when he looked at me like I was the safest place he knew.
His mouth touched mine.
Gentle.
Careful.
Steven kissed like even wanting me was something he needed to make sure I still wanted too.
His hand settled at my waist.
Amoris stirred.
The warmth shifted.
The pull came softly.
Nothing tore.
Nothing hurt.
Nothing touched Currena.
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Only that familiar sensation of warmth moving outward toward him.
Usually it felt close.
Almost intimate.
Like giving something already overflowing.
This time—
my knees disappeared.
Not literally.
For one strange second, my body simply forgot they existed.
The kitchen tilted.
Steven's arm locked around my waist before I fell.
“Aqua?”
His voice sounded farther away than it should have.
My eyes had closed.
I did not remember closing them.
“Aqua.”
I opened them slowly.
Steven's face was inches from mine.
Terrified.
That woke me faster than anything else could have.
“Hi.”
“What happened?”
I blinked.
“What?”
“You went limp.”
“Oh.”
“Aqua.”
His grip tightened.
Not hurting.
Holding.
“You just went completely limp in my arms.”
I drew in a breath.
Then another.
My heart felt slow and fast at the same time.
“I think…”
Steven waited.
I forced a smile.
“I think I really liked the kiss.”
His expression did not change.
I tried again.
“My knees just buckled.”
“That isn't better.”
“It was a very good kiss.”
“Aqua.”
I laughed softly.
It came out thinner than I wanted.
Steven immediately stopped smiling.
“Sit.”
“Steven—”
“Please.”
That word did it.
He guided me to the table.
I sat.
He got water before I could argue.
Not tea.
Water.
He put the cup in my hands and sat beside me.
Close.
Too close for me to hide anything badly.
I drank.
His eyes never left my face.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
“That fast?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
I sighed.
“My knees feel normal again.”
“And your head?”
“A little light.”
His entire body tensed.
“I'm staying.”
“No.”
“Aqua.”
“You stopped.”
“That doesn't matter if you almost passed out.”
“I didn't pass out.”
“You went limp.”
“For one second.”
“That is not helping.”
Fang's tongue flicked.
I glanced toward him.
He looked ready to side with Steven.
Traitor.
I drank more water.
The lightness began easing.
Not disappearing.
Enough.
Steven sat with both hands braced against his knees.
Like he was waiting for me to turn into a medical emergency in front of him.
I reached over.
Put my hand on his.
“Steven.”
He looked at me.
“Really.”
His jaw tightened.
“I don't want to leave until I know you're okay.”
The words were so Steven that my heart hurt.
I squeezed his hand.
“I know.”
“Then let me stay.”
“If you stay, you're going to sit here and watch me breathe all day.”
“I can do that.”
“I know you can.”
“And?”
“And that is exactly why you should go.”
He frowned.
I finished the water.
Then stood before he could stop me.
Slowly.
Carefully.
But not obviously.
Steven started to rise.
I put one hand on his shoulder.
“Stay.”
“Aqua—”
“Stay.”
He stayed.
Suspicious.
I walked around the chair.
One step.
Two.
Nothing tilted.
Good.
I moved behind him and wrapped my arms around his shoulders.
Steven exhaled.
I rested my cheek against his hair.
He had washed it recently.
It smelled clean.
Familiar.
Home.
“See?”
“You standing up is not medical proof.”
I smiled.
“There is Dylan talking.”
“That is insulting.”
“Don't worry.”
My fingers moved through his hair.
His shoulders loosened beneath my arms.
Slowly.
“I'm going to take it easy today.”
Steven turned his head enough to look at me.
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
“Aqua.”
“I promise.”
I looked toward Fang.
“And Fang will make sure I keep that promise.”
Fang stared at me.
I held his gaze.
“Right, Fang?”
For a long moment, nothing.
Then—
one blink.
Yes.
Steven looked at him.
Then at me.
“You two really do have a code now.”
I smiled.
“We're getting very good at it.”
Fang's tail twitched.
Probably disagreement.
Steven relaxed a little more.
Enough.
He covered one of my hands where it rested against his chest.
“You're really okay?”
I kissed the top of his head.
“Yes.”
The lie came gently.
That made it worse.
He believed me.
Because I had made myself believable.
Steven stood.
Turned.
Touched my cheek.
“If anything changes—”
“I'll tell you.”
“Anything.”
“Yes.”
“And actually rest.”
“I will.”
He looked toward Fang.
“Keep an eye on her.”
Fang blinked once.
Yes.
Steven kissed my forehead.
Then my mouth.
A quick one.
Careful again.
“I'll be back.”
“I know.”
He picked up Dylan's folder.
Crossed the kitchen.
Opened the French doors.
I smiled until he stepped outside.
Kept smiling while he walked across the yard.
Kept smiling until he disappeared beyond the trees.
The doors clicked shut.
My hand hit the glass.
Hard.
I leaned into it.
Both palms.
Forehead.
My knees bent.
For one frightening second, I thought I was going down.
I did not.
Barely.
Behind me—
a hiss.
“I know.”
Fang hit the floor.
Slid toward me.
I stayed against the doors and concentrated on breathing.
In.
Out.
My legs trembled.
I closed my eyes.
“I'm okay.”
Fang stopped.
I opened one eye.
His expression had not changed.
“All right.”
I swallowed.
“Bad choice of words.”
His tail struck the floor twice.
No.
“I know.”
Another two taps.
“No.”
“Fang.”
He stared.
I pushed myself upright.
Slowly.
The room steadied.
Mostly.
“Please don't tell Steven.”
No.
“Fang.”
No.
“If you call him back, he'll come back.”
Fang continued staring.
“He'll stop training.”
Nothing.
“He'll sit beside me all day.”
His tongue flicked.
“And he'll blame himself.”
That made Fang go still.
I knew I had found the part he understood.
I turned fully toward him.
“I just need to take it easy.”
No.
“I am going to.”
No.
“Fang.”
His tail struck harder.
I sighed.
“What do you want me to say?”
He looked toward the sofa.
Then back at me.
I understood.
“Go lie down.”
One blink.
Yes.
“Now?”
Yes.
I looked around the kitchen.
Two cups on the table.
Toast crumbs.
A plate near the sink.
Nothing.
Barely anything.
“I'll rest.”
Fang's head tilted.
“After I clean up breakfast.”
His tail snapped twice.
No.
“It's three things.”
No.
“Four.”
No.
I almost smiled.
“Five, if you count the towel.”
His stare sharpened.
“I'll be careful.”
Fang did not agree.
That was all right.
I had promised Steven I would take it easy.
I had not promised I would do absolutely nothing.
At least—
that was what I told myself.
The dishes took longer than dishes should take.
One plate.
A cup.
Another cup.
A knife.
The cutting board.
That was all.
Normally, I would have finished before the kettle boiled.
Instead, I rinsed the first plate and rested my hip against the counter.
Set it in the rack.
Stopped.
Breathed.
Fang watched from the floor.
“I am fine.”
Two taps.
“No, I know. Bad phrase.”
I rinsed the cup.
My arms felt heavy.
Not painful.
Just—
heavy.
I set the cup down.
Rested both palms against the counter.
Waited.
The room remained still.
Good.
I wiped the cutting board.
That took longer than it should have.
Not because it was dirty.
Because halfway through, I forgot why I had the towel in my hand.
I stared at it.
Fang hissed.
“I know what this is.”
He continued staring.
“It's a towel.”
His tail struck twice.
No.
I almost laughed.
“You are becoming rude.”
I folded it.
The corner slipped.
I unfolded it.
Tried again.
My fingers felt slower.
The morning light had moved across the kitchen floor.
How long had I been standing here?
I looked toward the clock.
Longer than I expected.
Not hours.
But enough.
Enough that something this small should have been done already.
Fang slid in front of my foot.
“I know.”
He remained there.
“I'll sit after I finish.”
No.
“Fang.”
No.
I stepped around him.
Slowly.
My hand found the table before I consciously reached for it.
I paused.
Looked down at my fingers gripping the edge.
That was new.
I had used the counter.
Now the table.
I let go.
Immediately wished I had not.
My balance shifted.
I caught the chair.
Fang hissed.
“Okay.”
My voice came quieter.
“Okay.”
I sat.
Just for a minute.
Fang stayed close.
I closed my eyes.
The house was silent.
Steven would be at the field by now.
Probably going through the sequence he'd stared at all morning.
Low flame.
Controlled line.
Reset.
Again.
He would be happier there.
Not because he didn't want to be with me.
Because training finally felt possible.
I wanted him to have that.
I rested for a few minutes.
Maybe longer.
When I opened my eyes, I felt better.
Not good.
Better.
Enough to stand.
Fang immediately moved.
“No.”
His tail snapped twice.
“I sat.”
No.
“I rested.”
No.
“I need to put the book away.”
Fang looked toward the sitting room.
Then back at me.
“Yes, that book.”
No.
“It's one book.”
I stood.
The chair scraped softly against the floor.
My legs held.
That felt like permission.
So I walked.
Slowly.
The sitting room seemed farther away than it had yesterday.
I moved from the table—
to the back of a chair.
From the chair—
to the wall.
My hand touched the wall.
Stayed there.
I looked at it.
For a moment, everything inside me went quiet.
I had stopped walking through my own house.
I was moving from one thing I could hold—
to the next.
Fang was right.
The thought arrived clearly.
No excuse around it.
No little joke.
No tired isn't hurt.
Fang was right.
I needed to rest.
Actually rest.
Now.
I looked toward the sofa.
The book was still there.
Open on the cushion.
The blanket folded badly over one arm.
Normally, I would have fixed both without thinking.
I almost laughed.
Of course.
Even now, part of me wanted to make the room look normal before Steven came home.
Normal meant safe.
Normal meant he would not look at the house and immediately know something had happened.
Normal meant he would walk through the door smiling.
I hated how much I wanted that.
I moved to the sofa.
Picked up the book.
My wrist trembled.
I stared at it.
“No.”
Fang had not done anything.
“I know.”
I set the book on the table instead of putting it away properly.
Progress.
Then I reached for the blanket.
Fang hissed.
“I am already here.”
No.
“I'm sitting after this.”
No.
“I promise.”
His yellow eyes narrowed.
I smiled weakly.
“You do not trust my promises anymore.”
He did not blink.
Fair.
I folded one side of the blanket.
Then another.
My hands stopped halfway through the third.
The pattern on the fabric blurred.
I blinked.
Once.
Twice.
The room tilted.
My hand shot to the sofa back.
Fang hissed sharply.
“I know.”
My voice barely came out.
I lowered myself onto the sofa.
This time, I did not argue.
I did not straighten the blanket.
Did not move the book.
Did not check the herbs.
Did not make tea.
I sat.
Then leaned back.
Everything in me exhaled at once.
Not relief.
Release.
As if my body had been waiting all day for permission to stop pretending.
My arms became too heavy.
My legs sank into the cushions.
I closed my eyes.
Only for a second.
Fang climbed onto the sofa.
His body moved close to my shoulder.
His head near mine.
I opened my eyes again.
“There.”
The word came slowly.
“I rested.”
Fang did not relax.
His yellow eyes stayed fixed on my face.
“You were right.”
His head lowered slightly.
“I should have listened.”
I tried lifting one hand toward him.
My fingers moved.
Then stopped.
Halfway.
That frightened me.
I looked at my own hand like it belonged to someone else.
“Fang.”
He pressed his head beneath my wrist.
I could barely feel it.
My Currena moved beneath my skin.
Slow.
Too slow.
The love aura inside me felt thin.
Not gone.
Spread.
Like warmth stretched across too much space.
I swallowed.
“Maybe…”
My eyelids lowered.
I forced them open.
“Maybe you should…”
The sentence disappeared.
Fang's body tensed.
I knew what I had been trying to say.
Call Steven.
Tell him.
Bring him home.
The words would not come.
My eyes closed.
Opened.
The room dimmed around the edges.
Fang pressed closer.
I could see fear in him now.
Not annoyance.
Not judgment.
Fear.
“Don't…”
My voice was barely air.
His head lifted.
“Don't look so worried.”
My eyes closed again.
This time opening them took effort.
Fang was still there.
Black scales.
Yellow stripes.
Old yellow eyes.
The last thing I saw.
Then even he disappeared.
Fang’s POV
Aqua did not sleep correctly.
Sleep had rhythm.
I knew it well.
I had watched Steven sleep through grief.
Fever.
Exhaustion.
Fear.
Watched Salvatore children sleep after too much fire.
Warriors after too much blood.
Old men after too many secrets.
Aqua's stillness was not sleep.
Not fully.
Her breathing remained shallow.
Her hand lay limp against the cushion where it had fallen.
Her skin had cooled past ordinary rest.
Not death-cold.
Not close.
Alive.
But wrong.
Currena moved beneath her skin like water trying to remember the shape of itself.
The love aura around her had thinned.
Still there.
Faint.
Spread too wide.
A candle behind mist.
I coiled near her head.
Watched her breathe.
One.
Two.
Three.
Too shallow.
I pressed my head against her wrist.
No response.
I had promised to watch.
I had watched.
Too long.
That was the problem.
I had spent the morning telling myself she was still speaking.
Still walking.
Still choosing.
Then telling myself she had finally sat.
Then that perhaps sleep would restore what stubbornness had spent.
Fools were dangerous when they made patience look like respect.
I lifted my head.
Reached through the bond.
Steven was far enough away that the connection felt thin.
Not gone.
Never gone.
But blurred around the edges.
I pushed.
Steven.
Nothing.
Again.
Steven.
A flicker.
Not an answer.
Something warm and distracted through the bond.
Training.
Fire.
Focus.
Then—
something changed.
Before I could push harder, that warmth stopped.
Steven noticed something too.
Not me.
Her.
A faint shift through his Amoris.
A sudden unease.
Aqua's absence where warmth usually answered.
I felt his attention turn home.
Good.
Come back.
I stayed beside her.
Waiting.
This time—
not patiently.
Steven returned early.
I heard him before the door opened.
Fast steps on the path.
Not running.
Almost.
The French doors opened.
“Aqua?”
His voice crossed the room.
She did not move.
Steven stepped inside with Dylan's folder beneath one arm.
Sweat darkened his shirt.
Hope still clung to him from training.
It lasted less than a second.
“Aqua?”
The folder hit the floor.
He crossed the room too quickly.
Caught one foot against the rug.
Nearly fell.
Then dropped to his knees beside the sofa.
“Aqua. Hey.”
His hand touched her cheek.
Then her shoulder.
Then her wrist.
“Aqua.”
Her lashes fluttered once.
Not enough.
Steven's face lost its color.
“What happened?”
I lifted my head.
He looked at me.
I could have softened it.
I did not know how anymore.
It caught up to her.
Steven went still.
“What caught up?”
The giving.
His pupils widened.
“No.”
Steven—
“No.”
His fingers tightened around Aqua's wrist.
Not hard.
Desperate.
“She was fine.”
I stayed still.
“She was fine when I left.”
She wanted you to think she was.
The words hurt him.
I saw it happen.
His face twisted.
“She lied?”
She was frightened you would stay.
Steven looked down at Aqua.
“She thought she had to hide it from me.”
Not anger.
Never anger at her.
Immediately inward.
Immediately blame.
“I made her think she had to hide it.”
No.
“She knew I'd stop.”
Because you would have.
“So she hid it.”
Because she wanted to help you.
His breath caught.
“There.”
I did not understand.
He looked at me.
Eyes wet.
“That's worse.”
Steven.
“She hurt herself because she wanted to help me.”
She chose.
“Because I kept asking.”
You stopped when she weakened.
“I shouldn't have asked at all.”
His Amoris recoiled through the bond.
Hard.
Like the very part of him that had reached for love suddenly believed touching it made him dangerous.
I moved closer.
She is alive.
Steven looked at Aqua's face.
His breathing changed.
Too fast.
Too shallow.
“I promised.”
Steven.
“I promised I wouldn't hurt her.”
You did not intend—
“That doesn't matter.”
He pressed one hand against his mouth.
Dragged it down.
His chest rose too quickly.
“Aqua.”
Her lashes fluttered.
A tiny sound left her.
Barely anything.
Steven recoiled like she had screamed.
“No.”
I moved toward him.
She needs calm.
“I can't.”
You can.
“I can't.”
He stood too quickly.
Stumbled backward.
I followed as far as the edge of the sofa allowed.
Steven.
He shook his head.
“I need air.”
Stay.
“I can't breathe in here.”
He backed toward the doors.
Aqua's hand remained limp against the cushion.
I looked at her.
Then him.
Two people.
One body to guard.
One mind breaking.
I hated the choice before he even made it for me.
“I'm sorry.”
He turned.
The French doors opened.
Evening air rushed in.
Then Steven was gone.
I reached through the bond immediately.
Steven.
No answer.
His footsteps struck the path.
Faster.
Steven, stop.
Nothing.
I pushed harder.
She is alive.
The bond flared.
Pain.
Panic.
Guilt so sharp it burned.
Then—
Stop.
His voice.
Not aloud.
Inside.
I froze.
Steven.
Stop.
His footsteps became running.
I pressed through again.
Turn around.
A wall hit me.
Not a real wall.
Something inside the bond.
Crude.
Panicked.
Built from desperation rather than skill.
I pushed.
Steven.
The wall slammed harder.
For one strange heartbeat, I felt him discovering the shape of it while he used it.
Then—
the bond closed.
Not broken.
Not severed.
Shut.
Silence.
I stared toward the open path beyond the French doors.
Steven had always been there.
Even when angry.
Even when asleep.
Even when ignoring me.
Some small part of him had always existed at the other end of the bond.
Now there was a door.
And he had slammed it in my face.
I hated how much that frightened me.
Behind me, Aqua breathed.
Shallow.
Alive.
I turned back.
Pressed myself close to her shoulder.
I had warned Steven.
Warned Aqua.
Watched both of them step around every warning because neither wanted to hurt the other.
Now Aqua could barely wake.
Steven was running into the trees with no protective voice left in his head.
And somewhere beneath all of that—
something old had been waiting for silence.
I lowered my head beside Aqua's.
There was no one else she could call.
So I stayed.
And prayed the boy remembered how to come back.