Ryven Voss woke slowly.
That alone told him something was wrong.
For a few disorienting seconds, he didn't know where he was—and that had never happened to him before.
Ryven did not wake confused.
He woke trained.
Sharp.
Immediate.
Ready.
But this—
this was different.
The first thing he noticed wasn't danger.
Wasn't sound.
Wasn't movement.
It was warmth.
Not the trapped, mechanical heat of a damaged cockpit.
Something softer.
Something alive.
Ryven's eyes opened.
The emergency lights had dimmed further overnight, leaving the cockpit washed in a muted gray-blue glow from early morning light filtering through a fracture somewhere above them. The red warning indicators still pulsed faintly along the console, but most of the system had long since surrendered to passive failure.
The battle was gone.
The alarms were gone.
The urgency—
was gone.
Ryven barely registered any of it.
Because Kael was still in his arms.
The realization came in layers.
Kael Ardent—
No.
Caleb Benton.
Curled against him, head resting near his shoulder, one arm still loosely draped across his chest like it had found its place there sometime during the night and never reconsidered. His breathing was slow, deep, steady in a way it hadn't been before.
The heat was gone.
Completely.
Ryven stared down at him.
This was not how he usually woke.
Normally—
his world was structured.
A clean room.
A made bed.
A schedule already mapped before his feet touched the ground.
Routine.
Discipline.
Control.
Then Kael Ardent happened.
Ryven exhaled slowly.
Because Kael had a way of dismantling order without ever appearing to try.
From the moment they met, Kael had pushed him.
In simulators.
In duels.
In strategy.
In arguments that somehow felt more intense than combat and more engaging than they had any right to be.
Especially the arguments.
Kael didn't provoke carelessly.
He provoked precisely.
And Ryven—
never broke.
But somewhere along the way—
he started expecting it.
Looking for it.
Waiting for it.
He looked down again.
Even asleep, Kael looked faintly irritated, like somewhere in whatever dream he had fallen into, he was still in the middle of an argument he intended to win.
Ryven almost smiled.
Almost.
He stopped himself.
Because if Kael ever saw that—
he would become unbearable.
Not that he wasn't already.
Kael shifted.
Instinctively.
Closer.
Ryven's arm tightened slightly without thought, keeping him from slipping in the angled cockpit.
The ACM-47 had not been built for this.
It barely supported one pilot.
Now—
it held two.
And something far more permanent than either of them had planned.
Kael made a quiet sound and pressed closer, face settling against the collar of Ryven's suit like it was the most natural place in the world to be.
Ryven stared forward.
"…of course," he muttered.
He should move.
He knew that.
He should create distance before Kael woke fully and everything from the night before came crashing back into awareness.
He didn't.
Because if he was honest—
he had spent three years trying to maintain that distance.
And failed every time.
Kael had ended up exactly where he was now anyway.
Too close.
Too disruptive.
Too impossible to ignore.
Ryven leaned his head back slightly against the cockpit wall and closed his eyes for a brief moment.
Because the truth was simple.
It had never been the chaos.
Never the arguments.
Never the disruption.
It had always been—
Kael.
The storm of him.
And somewhere along the way—
Ryven had stopped avoiding the storm.
And started standing in it.
Now—
the storm was asleep in his arms.
And for the first time—
it didn't feel like chaos.
It felt like something else entirely.
Outside—
the world had moved on without them.
Search teams had passed through the district hours earlier, sweeping wide damage zones and marking collapsed sectors for deeper excavation. The outer perimeter had been secured. The worst of the fires had been contained. Emergency crews had worked through the night, prioritizing civilian recovery and structural stability.
And somewhere in those reports—
the ACM-47 had been listed.
Missing.
Last seen entering the combat zone.
No confirmed recovery.
No signal.
No visual.
Still unaccounted for.
Inside the cockpit—
they remained exactly where they had been.
Unfound.
Uninterrupted.
Untouched.
Kael stirred.
Slowly.
His eyes opened just enough to focus.
"…Ry."
Ryven looked down immediately.
For a moment—
neither of them spoke.
Kael's arm remained across his chest.
His voice, when it came again, was rough with sleep.
"…do you regret it?"
The question settled between them quietly.
It could have meant anything.
The bond.
The night.
The choice.
All of it.
Ryven didn't hesitate.
"Not a chance."
Kael studied him through half-lidded eyes.
Then—
a small, satisfied smile formed.
"Good."
And just like that—
he shifted closer again.
Settled.
Gone.
Back to sleep.
Ryven shook his head slightly.
"You ask difficult questions at inconvenient times."
Kael made a soft sound that might have been agreement.
Or nothing at all.
Ryven let the silence return.
The cockpit remained still.
The air cooler now.
Manageable.
Outside—
distant movement continued.
Closer than before.
But still—
not here.
Not yet.
Ryven should have called out.
Should have tried the comms again.
Should have forced movement.
He didn't.
Because Kael was still there.
Warm.
Real.
Alive.
And for the first time in a long time—
Ryven allowed himself to do nothing.
No action.
No correction.
No adjustment.
Just—
stay.
Time passed.
Unmeasured.
Quiet.
The kind of time that didn't belong to training schedules or mission clocks.
Eventually—
Kael shifted again, pressing closer without waking fully, his grip tightening slightly against Ryven's suit.
Ryven exhaled through his nose.
"You are fully unconscious and still difficult."
Kael mumbled something unintelligible.
It sounded argumentative.
Ryven almost laughed.
This time—
he didn't stop it completely.
His thoughts drifted.
Back.
To the scar.
To the name.
Caleb Benton.
The boy from years ago.
The one he had never forgotten.
The one who had somehow been beside him all along.
His grip tightened just slightly.
Kael didn't stir.
Still trusting.
Still there.
Ryven's voice dropped to a whisper.
"I found you."
Kael didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
Then—
something shifted outside.
Closer this time.
Metal grinding.
Voices.
Clearer.
Not passing.
Stopping.
"—section here—collapsed trench—"
"Thermal residue's still high—scan deeper—"
"Wait—hold—there's something—"
Ryven's eyes opened fully.
There it was.
Finally.
After hours.
They had been found.
But for one more second—
just one—
he didn't move.
Didn't call out.
Didn't break the moment.
Because once that hatch opened—
everything would change again.
And this—
this would be gone.
So he stayed still.
Kept Kael close.
And waited—
for the world—
to find them.