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Summary
Sol sank to his knees on the steps below him with a smooth, unhurried motion, like it had been decided long before he arrived. The shift in height changed everything. The angle. The space between them. The way Sol had to tilt his head up now, golden-red gaze fixed on him from below.
Nightmare’s mouth went dry.
It was better. It was undeniably better. Something in his chest loosened at the sight, tension unwinding into a quieter, more dangerous sort of satisfaction. This was how it should be. Not Sol looming over him, not that insufferable confidence pressing in from above.
Here, like this, Sol looked almost… right.
"Oh," Sol murmured, soft and pleased, the sound dragging warm along the edges of Nightmare’s senses. "You like this."
