The tight, unbearable tension gradually lifted from the room, leaving only the low hum of the ship breathing around them. Rynna stood quietly, flexed her fingers, and approached Arthur with gentle, deliberate steps. Her fist tapped lightly against his still-rigid shoulder, a gesture softer than he'd expected. Ink trailed after her, forming quiet words above her wrist.
"There. You owe me one."
Before Arthur could reply, Rynna turned smoothly, her bare feet carrying her out onto the deck, where she rose gracefully into the night, her silhouette vanishing between the frigate and the distant glow of the Typhoon.
The night fell heavily again, wrapping the ship in silence so deep it could be touched.
Fedlimid finally rose, slow, cautious, as though reacquainting himself with each muscle and tendon, every nerve and sinew. His hands opened and closed, fingers testing their grip, adjusting to the new, calm rhythm beneath his skin.
