“Yeah,” he says easily, “but you seem to be doing okay, so how bad can it be, especially now I’m here?”
Varek actually chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that I don’t hear often. “You’re an unusual one.”
Dawson flashes him a grin. “So I’ve been told.”
Varek shakes his head, the faintest trace of a smirk lingering before his expression sobers. “You should at least understand why we’re fighting. You’ll need to know what kind of world you’re in now.”
Dawson straightens slightly. “Yeah, I guess that’d be useful.”
Varek steps around the table, his presence somehow even heavier when he moves. “We call ourselves the Riftborn Rebels. Most of us—myself included—are species that have been displaced, hunted, or forced under the rule of the queen.”
Dawson’s brow furrows. “Queen?”
“The ruling empire of this world. The one who decides who lives, who dies, and who gets used.”
Dawson exhales, nodding slowly. “Right. Sounds bad.”
Varek’s expression darkens. “It is.”
Dawson doesn’t ask for specifics. Not yet. Instead, he crosses his arms, thoughtful. “So, what’s the goal, then? Overthrow the evil overlord—lady?”
I grin. “Basically.”
Dawson tilts his head. “And how’s that going?”
Varek’s jaw tightens slightly. “We’re working on it.”
Dawson watches him for a moment, then nods. “Well, if I’m not heading home, I can be down with that. But if it comes to any battle shit, likeGame of ThronesmeetsLord of the Rings, I’m not sure how handy I’ll be.”
I snort. “What, no sword-fighting experience?”
He scoffs. “Mate, I spend summers teaching rich Europeans how to snowboard and winters running ski tours in New Zealand. My muscles are strictly for balance and making beer runs.”
Varek smirks. “We’ll find another use for you.”
Dawson laughs. “Great. Looking forward to it.”
That’s when the door opens again.
And Kael walks in.
My entire body stiffens on instinct. I haven’t seen him since yesterday, and yet the second he enters, I feel him before I see him. Like an invisible pressure in the air, something weighty and charged.
His posture is the same as always—spine straight, shoulders squared, every movement measured and precise. He doesn’t so much as glance at me before locking his piercing gaze onto Dawson.
And immediately, I don’t like it.
I step in, shifting slightly so I’m positioned between them—not obviously, not enough to make a scene, but enough that Kael will have to look at me if he wants to continue this silent scrutiny.
It works.
His piercing gaze flicks to mine, unreadable and intense. A static-like charge prickles along my skin under the weight of it. He holds my gaze for all of three seconds before dismissing me entirely.
Arsehole.
Varek, to my surprise, doesn’t immediately intervene. Instead, he leans back against the table, arms crossed, watching closely. There’s something unreadable flickering behind his silver gaze, something sharp and calculating.
Finally, Kael speaks, and when he does, his voice is low and clipped. “The human has been requested.”
