Erik found her where the noise couldn’t reach.
Of course he did.
He always had a way of locating her in the spaces between things—in the pause after laughter, in the corridor after confrontation, in the quiet places where Ra stopped performing composure and simply existed.
She stood near the terrace doors, moonlight silvering the edges of her gold breastplate, burgundy braids falling heavy down her back like a crown she hadn’t asked for.
When she heard his footsteps, her spine went still.
Not tense.
Aware.
Erik didn’t speak immediately.
He never rushed words the way other men did, throwing them like ropes. He arrived with silence first, with presence that didn’t demand.
He stopped a few feet away.
Close enough to feel.
Far enough to respect.
“Ra,” he said softly.
His voice was quiet power—lawyer precision, wolf-deep restraint, something expensive and dangerous held carefully in place.
She turned.
Erik looked unreal in the low light. Pale skin, electric green eyes that always felt like they could see through lifetimes. Debonair, immaculate, GQ elegance with something feral sleeping underneath.
He looked at her the way he always had.
Like she was both a wound and a prophecy.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he murmured.
Ra’s lips curved faintly, humor without softness.
“That’s rich coming from you.”
Erik’s jaw tightened.
“Yes,” he admitted. “It is.”
Silence stretched.
There were a thousand questions between them. A thousand histories. A thousand versions of what could have been if fate had been less… theatrical.
Ra’s voice came quieter.
“How is Lola?”
Erik blinked once, as if the name pulled him back into the life he’d built with discipline.
“She’s well,” he said carefully. “Strong. Steady. She’s… good.”
Ra nodded, slowly.
“And Karma?”
The mention of his child softened something in his eyes—brief, devastating.
“She’s everything,” he said simply. “She laughs like she owns the world.”
Ra smiled then, genuinely.
“She does.”
Erik watched that smile like it was oxygen.
“And you?” he asked, voice lower. “How are you?”
Ra’s breath caught.
The question wasn’t casual.
It never was.
“How am I,” she repeated, almost amused, almost broken. “Or how am I surviving being married to a Serpent God?”
Erik’s gaze sharpened.
“How is he?”
The words were controlled.
Too controlled.
Ra tilted her head.
“Careful, Erik.”
His lips twitched, humor without warmth.
“I’m being careful. That’s the problem.”
Ra’s pulse flickered.
“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered.
Erik’s eyes held hers.
“I do.”
There was so much in that. Loyalty. Regret. Starbound gravity that didn’t dissolve just because choices were made.
Ra’s voice softened.
“Is he… kind to you?”
Erik let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
“Kind,” he repeated, like the word didn’t belong in this universe.
Ra stepped closer, slowly, the way one approaches something sacred and dangerous.
Erik didn’t move.
Didn’t retreat.
He held still like restraint was the only vow left he could keep.
“I don’t belong to anyone,” Ra said quietly.
Erik’s eyes darkened.
“I know.”
Her throat tightened.
“And yet—”
“And yet,” Erik echoed, voice rougher now, “you are surrounded by men who think wanting is the same as claiming.”
Ra’s lips parted.
“And you?” she asked softly. “What do you think?”
Erik’s breath stalled.
For a long moment, he didn’t answer.
Then, very quietly—
“I think wanting you has never been the question.”
Ra’s chest ached.
The air between them turned heavy, intimate, unbearable.
Erik’s hand flexed at his side, like instinct fought discipline.
Ra’s gaze dropped to it.
A simple thing.
A hand.
And yet it felt like the most dangerous invitation in the world.
“Erik…” she murmured.
His voice was almost a warning.
“Ra.”
She reached out first.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Her fingers brushed his.
The contact was minimal.
Nothing.
Everything.
Erik’s hand turned instinctively, catching hers—not gripping, not pulling, just holding like he was afraid she’d vanish if he didn’t confirm she was real.
The heat of it shot through her, sharp and intimate, more obscene than a kiss because it carried history.
His thumb brushed once over her knuckles.
Ra’s breath trembled.
Erik’s voice dropped into something raw.
“This is not my stronghold,” he admitted.
“What?”
“Resisting you,” he said, eyes burning. “It has never been.”
Ra’s eyes stung.
“Then why do you?”
Erik’s grip tightened—just slightly.
“Because loyalty is the only thing standing between me and ruin.”
Ra swallowed hard.
“And do you ever wonder,” she whispered, “if fate is done with us?”
Erik’s laugh was soft, humorless.
“No.”
Ra’s breath caught.
“I’m not convinced,” he said, voice low, “that the universe brought you back into my orbit just to test my patience.”
Ra’s lips trembled.
“Erik…”
He released her hand suddenly, like letting go was an act of survival.
He stepped back, composure snapping into place like armor.
“I should go.”
Ra’s voice cracked.
“Say something honest before you do.”
Erik’s eyes held hers one last time—electric, aching, Starbound.
“I will always find you,” he said quietly. “Even when I shouldn’t.”
Then he turned.
And left her standing in the moonlight with her hand still burning where his had been.
Like a vow.
Like a warning.
Like fate laughing softly in the dark.