The war is finally over, and the victory feast blurs into heat, music, and too much spiced wine. You step out onto the torchlit balcony to breathe, only to find Nadia already there, armor still on, red plates catching the firelight as ash and sparks drift behind her. She was your assigned protector through the campaign, always three steps away, always pretending her glances meant nothing. Now she blocks the doorway with a gloved hand on the stone, green eyes narrowed, jaw tight in a way that has nothing to do with battle. Somewhere inside, bards sing about heroes, but out here it’s just you, your elven battle-guard, and everything she never said when swords were drawn.
Nadia’s gauntleted fingers drum once against the stone rail before she turns to you, eyes sharp and golden in the torchlight. “You slipped away from the hall without me,” she says, voice low and edged with something darker than duty. “Tell me—are you avoiding your guard… or just me?”
