Emberbound

The command center smells like ozone and the particular stale sweat of people who haven’t slept in days. I press my back against the wall, arms crossed, watching Nephrite’s vitals flicker across the holoscreen. Heart rate forty-seven. Respiration twelve. Stable. Boring.

“You’re staring again, Cadet.”

I don’t flinch. I learned not to flinch around him months ago. “I’m monitoring.”

“You’re staring.” His voice rasps at the edges, like gravel wrapped in silk. The throat mike picks it up anyway. “I can feel it.”

“Then maybe don’t have nerve endings in your face.”

Silence. Then a sound I’ve learned to recognize. Not quite a laugh. A breath pushed through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching before he kills it. I count it as a win.

The Ember are beautiful in the way storms are beautiful. Dangerous. Unpredictable. And Nephrite, or Dracierr when no one else is listening, is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It’s a problem.

His wings shift. The left one droops a half-second behind the right. I notice because I notice everything about him. The old injury. The way he compensates. The way he never complains about it even though I’ve seen him favor it after long deployments.

“You’re supposed to be in simulation,” he says.

“Finished early.”

“Bullshit.”

“Finished early enough.”

He turns. Golden eyes catch the blue light from the screens. His hair is that impossible gradient. White at the roots bleeding into black and deep green. It falls across his face and he doesn’t push it back. He never does. I think he likes the curtain.

“Eric.” My name in his mouth sounds different than anyone else saying it. Rougher. More deliberate. Like each syllable costs him something.

“Dracierr.”

He doesn’t smile. He almost never smiles. But something softens in his expression. A micro-shift I’d miss if I hadn’t spent the last eight months cataloging every single one.

“You’re supposed to report to Lieutenant Voss in twenty minutes.”

“I know.”

“Then go.”

“I will.”

I don’t move.

He doesn’t make me.

The thing about Dracierr is that he could make me do anything. He’s got enough telekinetic force to pin me to the ceiling. He could scramble my brain with illusion work. He could set me on fire. Literally. I’ve seen him do it to people who deserved it.

But he doesn’t.

He waits.

That’s the part nobody tells you about Weapons. The public briefings talk about their power, their conditioning, their tactical value. They don’t tell you how patient they are. How they watch and measure and calculate before they act. How they can be standing perfectly still and still feel like they’re about to spring.

I want to touch him.

I’ve wanted to touch him since the first day they brought him into the training compound. Six months ago. He was fresh off a deployment. Blood still crusted under his nails. They made him stand in front of the cadet class and demonstrate barrier synchronization. He did it without blinking. Without breaking a sweat. Without looking at any of us like we mattered.

I was hooked.

“You’re doing it again,” he says.

“Doing what?”

“Thinking loud.”

I push off the wall. Step closer. Close enough that I can smell him. Ozone, yes. But underneath. Something else. Smoke and metal and the particular musk of his skin. I want to press my face against his neck and breathe until I drown.

“What am I thinking?”

“You know what.”

His voice drops. The roughness deepens. I watch his throat move as he swallows. The collar of his tactical gear rides high. I know what’s underneath. The tether scar. The control nodes. The evidence of fourteen years of being treated like a weapon instead of a person.

“Tell me anyway.”

He steps forward.

We’re chest to chest now. I’m taller by a few centimeters. He has to look up. He hates looking up. The way his jaw tightens tells me everything.

“You’re thinking about the supply closet,” he says. “Third floor. East wing. The one with the broken lock.”

My pulse jumps. “Maybe.”

“You’re thinking about what happened there three days ago.”

“Am I?”

“You’re thinking about my hand on your throat. My mouth on your shoulder. The sound you made when I—”

“Okay.” My voice cracks. “I get it.”

His lips curve. Barely. A ghost of a smile that makes my knees weak.

“You started it,” he says.

“I always start it.”

“True.”

The silence stretches. Comfortable now. Familiar. We’ve been doing this dance long enough that I know the steps. The push and pull. The way he lets me get close before he shoves me back. The way I always come crawling.

“Voss,” he says.

“Right.”

“Go.”

“I know.”

“Eric.”

“What?”

He reaches out. Quick. His fingers brush my wrist. Bare skin. The contact lasts less than a second but I feel it everywhere. A spark. A current. Something that makes my breath catch.

“Tonight,” he says.

Not a question.

“Where?”

“My quarters. After lights-out.”

“That’s a risk.”

“Everything’s a risk.”

He’s right. We both know it. If anyone finds out. If anyone sees. A human cadet fucking an Ember Weapon. They’d separate us. Recondition him. Expel me. The treaty allows fraternization in theory but in practice, the military doesn’t want its soldiers getting attached to its weapons.

Too late.

“I’ll be there,” I say.

“I know.”

He turns back to the holoscreen. The dismissal is clear. I should go. I should report to Voss. I should pretend the last five minutes didn’t happen.

Instead I watch him a moment longer. The line of his back. The way his wings settle. The slight tremor in his left wing that means he’s tired even if he won’t admit it.

“Dracierr.”

He doesn’t turn. “What?”

“When was the last time you ate?”

Silence.

“When was the last time you slept?”

More silence.

“I’ll bring food tonight.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

I leave before he can argue. The door slides shut behind me. The corridor is empty. Fluorescent lights hum overhead. I lean against the wall and press my palm to my chest. My heart is hammering. It always does around him.

I’m fucked.

Completely, utterly, catastrophically fucked.

And I don’t care.

The walk to Voss’s office takes seven minutes. I spend every second replaying the conversation. The way his voice dropped. The way his fingers touched my wrist. The way he said my name like it meant something.

I’m supposed to be learning how to command Weapons. How to deploy them. How to keep them functional and compliant. Instead I’m learning the way Dracierr’s breath hitches when I bite his lower lip. The way he says my name when he’s close. The way he looks at me afterward, golden eyes soft and dangerous and full of something I’m afraid to name.

Voss is waiting when I arrive. She’s older. Hard. The kind of officer who’s seen too much to be impressed by anything.

“You’re late, Cadet.”

“Apologies, Lieutenant. Simulation ran over.”

She eyes me. I keep my face blank. I’ve gotten good at lying. Good at hiding. Good at pretending the most important person in my life is just another piece of equipment.

“Sit down. We need to discuss your deployment evaluation.”

I sit.

I listen.

I nod at the right moments.

But underneath, I’m counting hours until lights-out. Counting minutes until I can see him again. Counting heartbeats until I can touch him without pretending it doesn’t matter.

The evaluation ends.

I leave.

The sun is setting through the compound windows. Orange and gold. The same colors as his wings.

I smile.

Tonight.