Morning crept over Admiral, its soft, muted light filtering through the small window as Luke felt the gentle nudge of Ilyrana's hand. He blinked awake, finding her already up, a slight smile on her lips as she moved to the side, giving him space to rise. The events of last night hung in his mind—her warmth as she'd slept atop him, the closeness they'd shared. It had been comforting and strange all at once, and even now, as he rose, a part of him couldn't quite reconcile the familiarity that had blossomed between them.
He stretched, shaking off the remnants of sleep, and felt a pang of anticipation, a reminder that today marked the start of their journey to Hematheas. Their belongings were already packed, each item carefully stowed the previous evening with a readiness they both felt pressing upon them. Yet there was still one last person to see before they left: Mirela.
