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His grip on my hand warmed further.

My shoulders slumped back against the headboard. The fight went out of me, not all of it, but enough.

“Fine,” I said. “You win this round.”

He smiled. It was small and tired and real. “I’m not keeping score.”

“We both know that’s a lie.”

He paused. “All right. One to me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get cocky.”

“It’s a little late for that.”

He didn’t move away.

I didn’t pull back.

For a moment, the world beyond the room receded—Valerian, the Pentacoris, the auction. It all went quieter at the edges, leaving just us and the steady rhythm of borrowed peace.

Eventually, I said, “Raven will need me soon. The clan will, too.”

“I know,” he said. “And you’ll be there. But you’re going to rest first.”

I arched a brow. “Orders?”

“Requests,” he said. Then his mouth tipped at one corner. “Strongly worded requests.”

Despite myself, I smiled.

“Lie down,” he added. “You’re swaying, and you’re sitting still.”

Only then did I realize how much effort holding myself upright cost. I hesitated—some old, ingrained instinct against letting anyone see me vulnerable flaring up.

He didn’t push.

He just waited.

Slowly, I eased down, sliding further under the blanket until my head found the pillow again. My fingers stayed curled in his.

“Better?” he asked.

“Ask me after twelve hours of sleep,” I muttered.

“I’ll be here,” he said.

My eyes flicked to his. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I know,” he replied. “I’m staying anyway.”

This time, I didn’t argue.

The tension in my body loosened one coil at a time, my breathing slowing. Fatigue tugged at me, but it didn’t feel like drowning now. More like sinking into deep water with someone’s hand locked in mine.

“Con?” I murmured, already halfway to sleep.

“Yes.”