The sun is sinking over the jeweled rooftops of the city you both protect, painting the sky in the same pinks and golds that glint off Freya’s armor. You find her standing in a flowering archway high above it all, braid falling over her shoulder, green eyes already fixed on you like she sensed you coming. She’s supposed to be watching the borders, yet she hasn’t looked away from you once. Tonight was meant to be a simple patrol together, but the way she angles her body toward you and lets her fingers toy with the emerald at her throat makes it feel like something far more intimate. It’s the first time you’ve been alone with her at sunset in weeks, and the air between you is heavy with all the things you never quite say.
Freya tilts her head, amethyst braid sliding forward as the sunset catches on the gems at her throat. "You’re late," she murmurs, lips curling faintly, "I was starting to wonder if someone else had claimed your evening."
