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The Cavalry Guild headquarters looked uglier at dawn; all steel teeth and blank windows, the kind of structure that insisted it wasn’t intimidating while absolutely being so. Yuder made his way inside anyway, because this was work, and work was routine, and routine was safer than wandering around with nothing.
He stepped over the threshold with his ID badge half-hidden under his collar, hair black and face bleary from lack of sleep; his skin almost translucent under the fluorescent lights, dark crescents pressed under his purple eyes in a way that made people stare before remembering they were absolutely not supposed to. S-Rank Guides weren’t meant to look tired; they were supposed to look like polished tools of state security, sharpened and gleaming.
Yuder didn’t bother pretending.
“Good morning, Ail,” a security staff member said, with a tone of someone bracing herself.
He nodded back, expression entirely unanimated.
The rest of the guards waved him through with the brisk, nervous relief guild members always had around him—half respect, half fear of accidentally offending a Guide—or worse, the Esper tethered to them.
His boots clicked along the long stretch of hallway leading to the Cavalry’s elite Esper wing.
Yuder didn’t mind mornings here; the facility was quiet, the halls washed pale by early sun. Since most Guides and Espers hadn’t checked in yet, the building was peaceful enough, with the administrative staff still half-asleep anyway. Screens glowed softly with rift forecasts; someone’s coffee machine hissed; a nurse nodded a greeting without making eye contact.
And then, through the glass walls of the prep area, Yuder caught sight of the most frustrating man in the building.
Kishiar La Orr. S-Rank, commander of his squad; golden-haired, ruby-eyed, and unfairly warm in a place that prided itself on being cold.
The Cavalry’s most troublesome esper.
Troublesome because he was powerful. Troublesome because he worked himself half to death. Troublesome because every time Yuder ended a guiding session his hands trembled with leftover warmth and the faint, electric wrongness of wanting something—what it was, he couldn’t quite say, only that it was dangerous to think of it too long.
The doors slid open with a hiss.
Kishiar stood at the center of controlled chaos—Nathan beside him flipping through reports with the unmistakable tension of a man who deserved more than a bonus. The commander wore his half-buttoned uniform and an expression that said he’d been awake too long but would never admit it; his lashes gold enough to catch the light in attractively distracting ways Yuder refused to acknowledge.
Kishiar looked up at the sound of the door, his expression brightening with such immediacy Nathan made a noise of defeat under his breath.
“Guide Ail,” Kishiar greeted, stepping toward him with that smooth, self-assured stride. “I hoped you’d arrive early.”
“I’m scheduled,” Yuder replied, deliberately neutral, pretending he didn’t feel his pulse kickstart at the sound of Kishiar’s voice. “You’re almost entirely depleted.”
Nathan looked up so sharply the papers in his hand rustled. “Commander, did you exert your abilities again last night? I recall issuing explicit instructions for you to rest.”
Kishiar clasped his hands together with practiced serenity. “I did rest.”
“Guide Ail’s words clearly indicate something different.”
Nathan turned to Yuder, composure slipping at the edges. “Guide Ail, if you would kindly remind the commander that overuse of his abilities is medically inadvisable, it may carry more weight coming from you.”
Kishiar leaned closer, eyes crescenting. “Don’t listen to him.”
“Ignore him,” Nathan said simultaneously, “The commander requires firm intervention to prevent further deterioration.”
“I prefer the term ‘efficiency,’” Kishiar said.
“Commander—”
“It’s my job.”
Yuder let the conversation wash over him, the familiar rhythm of Nathan’s despair and Kishiar’s gentle disregard settling into something almost comforting. He stepped closer, and the faint hum of Kishiar’s unbalanced circuits brushed along his senses like a heated breeze. Kishiar was always too warm—power thrumming under his skin like a pulse he hadn’t learned to quiet. Yuder reached out instinctively, almost touching his shoulder, then pulled back before skin met fabric.
Guides were expected to maintain professionalism, especially with Espers who smiled at them so warmly far too easily.
“Room eight,” Yuder said. “We’ll start your check.”
“Lead the way.”
Kishiar followed with that maddeningly graceful stride, falling into step beside him. The hallway hummed with early activity, but every time Kishiar’s arm brushed Yuder’s, it felt like the entire building went quiet for a moment.
“You look tired,” Kishiar said softly, not teasing this time.
“I’m fine.”
“Have you been sleeping?”
“As I normally do.”
Kishiar hummed, unconvinced; his red eyes passed over Yuder’s dark circles with a soft, concentrated concern that pressed too close to something Yuder didn’t want to feel.
They entered the guiding room. The door slid shut behind them; the dim lights brushed Kishiar’s hair into molten gold, his lashes fanning so delicately that Yuder had to look away for a heartbeat.
“You’re worse than yesterday,” Yuder said, beginning the scan, letting his senses settle against Kishiar’s aura with practiced precision.
“It’s charming that you notice,” Kishiar murmured, smiling faintly.
“I won’t have the chance if you keep doing this.”
“It’s pleasing to hear you worry over me, Guide Ail.”
“It’s my job,” Yuder said, far too quickly.
Kishiar’s smile curved—not smug, not teasing, just unbearably gentle in a way that made something in Yuder’s chest wind tight.
Yuder lifted his hands to begin—and paused, hesitating for the first time that morning. Kishiar’s eyebrows rose gently.
“…Yuder?” he asked.
“I have a joke,” Yuder said abruptly, as if confessing a crime.
Kishiar’s red eyes widened. “You—what?”
“You requested it last week,” Yuder muttered, looking at the wall. “You said I should try humor.”
Kishiar lit up even more, impossibly bright for a man already so damn radiant.
Yuder inhaled, exhaled, and then delivered it flatly:
“A sparrow walks into a rift. What happens.”
Kishiar blinked—then leaned in, eyes widening with theatrical innocence, playing along far too well for someone his age.
“What?” he asked, voice soft with exaggerated anticipation, like a child. It was ridiculous, really, but endearing in a way Yuder refused to examine too closely.
“It immediately dies,” Yuder said, no hesitation, a clean, cold parting line.
Immediate silence.
Kishiar inhaled sharply, then pressed his hand to his lips as laughter burst out, rich and sudden and almost boyish. He tried to muffle it but failed spectacularly, leaning forward, shoulders shaking.
“Yuder—gods—that’s—”
“You’re laughing too hard,” Yuder said flatly. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“That—makes it even better,” Kishiar gasped, wiping at his eyes.
Yuder watched him with faint concern and a rapidly deteriorating ability to pretend he felt nothing at all.
He motioned for Kishiar to sit; Kishiar obeyed without complaint, a sure sign of true exhaustion. Yuder opened his senses, and their energies met like two threads twisting effortlessly together. Kishiar’s power—stellar and volatile—pulled toward him in instinctive trust, warm and bright and overwhelming.
“You’re burning yourself out again,” Yuder said quietly, hand hovering just above Kishiar’s sternum.
Kishiar’s eyes half-lidded. “Not to an extent that requires so much worrying from my dear Guide.”
“Your readings say otherwise.”
“And what do your instincts say?”
“That you’re stubborn,” Yuder said.
Kishiar hummed, not answering. “Your hands always feel cold.”
“That’s my normal temperature.”
“I know,” Kishiar murmured, voice softer. “I like it.”
Yuder’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly.
Guiding was silent work—the slow loosening of psychic knots, the cleaning of latent toxin, the rebalancing of chaotic circuits. But with Kishiar, it felt almost peaceful, like something inside Yuder also uncoiled; a memory surfacing from a time he could no longer name, warm in a way it had no right to be.