Darien didn’t move away when she came up beside him.
He just shifted his weight so the angle of his body matched hers, boots steady on the cracked glass, one forearm resting loosely against the railing like the drop below wasn’t worth acknowledging. The shadows at his feet settled—less restless now, like they recognized her presence and decided to behave.
His gaze stayed forward for a beat after she finished speaking, storm-gray eyes tracking the distant glow of the city while her words landed where they landed.
Then he exhaled, slow and quiet.
“Hey you,” he said back, softer than the way he usually said her name.
He glanced down at her hand on the railing, then back up to her face—not clinical, not possessive. Just attentive.
“You don’t owe me an apology,” Darien said. “Disappearing when the world pulls the rug out from under you is… pretty on-brand for people who actually feel things.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “If you’d shown up pretending everything was fine, that would’ve worried me.”
At her question, he let out a low huff of a laugh.
“No,” he said. “If I’d done something worth you being pissed at me, you’d already have hit me. Or at least threatened it.” A beat. “You’re very honest that way.”
He turned his head fully toward her then, eyes intent but unguarded.
“And yeah,” he admitted, unapologetic. “I do tend to make people face things. Occupational hazard. Comes with the whole ‘training you to survive’ gig.” His tone softened again, less teasing. “But I never force it. You know that.”
When she said she’d just come to see him, something eased in his posture—subtle, but there.
Darien reached up, bracing one hand against the railing above and slightly behind her—not boxing her in, not touching, just there. An anchor, if she wanted it.
“Restless doesn’t always mean danger,” he said quietly. “Sometimes it just means something important went missing and your body hasn’t figured out what to do with the space yet.”
He tipped his head, studying her expression—not trying to read her mind, just reading her.
“So,” he murmured, voice low but warm, “we don’t have to train. We don’t have to fight. And I promise I won’t make you unpack anything you’re not ready to touch.”
“But if you want to stand here and let the night pass for a minute—”
His gaze flicked to the horizon, then back to her.
“—I can do that. I’m very good at staying.”