Malvoria did not move.
Not right away.
She lay there in the dark, one arm around Elysia's waist, her head tucked gently against Malvoria's collarbone, her breath warm and even.
The fire in the hearth had dimmed to a quiet glow, the room wrapped in a thick silence that she hated to disturb.
It had taken them hours to reach this calm, this soft quiet—a pocket of peace carved from the chaos that ruled their lives.
And then the knocking had come.
The words that followed had stabbed through the warmth like a dagger of cold iron.
We have an emergency.
Malvoria closed her eyes for half a second.
Not even a full second.
Then she exhaled sharply and pulled her arm from beneath Elysia's resting form.
"No," Elysia murmured, half-asleep, her hand tightening on Malvoria's robe. "No, don't go yet."
Malvoria bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then to her temple. "I have to."
"You always have to." Elysia's voice was barely a whisper now, equal parts pout and plea.
