The stronghold had survived, but the air was still thick with the scent of blood and smoke. The fires had been tamed, the dead were being dragged from the battlefield, and the wounded groaned in makeshift infirmaries.
Caidren should have been with his generals, overseeing the aftermath, securing their position—ensuring the enemy wouldn't return.
But instead, he was here.
Standing in the doorway of the barracks.
Watching Elias.
The omega sat on a wooden bench, his posture stiff, his expression unreadable. His hands, wrapped in fresh bandages, rested on his lap. His clothes were still damp with sweat, dirt smudged across his skin, but he was alive.
Caidren told himself that was all that mattered.
Varen stood beside him, arms crossed, watching Caidren carefully. He had always been observant, always watching. It was a habit that had made him invaluable—and, at times, insufferable.
"My lord," Varen greeted, his voice level, respectful. "The omega is fine."
Elias scoffed quietly. "You don't have to talk about me like I'm not here."
Caidren's gaze flicked to him, sharp. "You're still breathing."
Elias lifted an eyebrow. "Disappointed?"
Caidren didn't respond.
Because no, he wasn't.
And that was the problem.
An Unspoken Truth
The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.
Elias, as always, was the first to break it. "I suppose I should thank you."
"You suppose?"
A small smirk curled at Elias's lips. "I doubt you did it out of kindness."
Caidren's jaw tightened. "I did what was necessary."
Varen exhaled a quiet breath, the kind that was far too knowing. "The stronghold still needs you, my lord." His words were pointed, a reminder.
Caidren tore his gaze from Elias. "Then I'll see to it."
Without another word, he turned on his heel and left.
He didn't look back.
Didn't let himself pause.
Because if he did—
If he stayed too long—
He might start questioning things that had no place in his mind.
And that was dangerous.
So he did what he always did.
He walked away.