Jason lay on the floor of the small room, staring at the cracked ceiling. His chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths. Beside him, Ylva was already pulling her clothes back on, her movements efficient and unhurried.
He had emptied his balls into her. Twice. And this was exactly the distraction he needed.
For a few moments—maybe longer—he hadn't thought about Thalion. Or Tauriel, the system, the forty percent adaptation, the shadow figure in his dream. Just Ylva. Her warmth. Her scent. The way her claws traced lightly down his back without breaking skin.
Now it was over, and his mind was clear.
"You're thinking again," Ylva said, not looking at him. Her voice was flat, but not cold.
"Always," Jason replied.
She finished lacing her tunic and stood up. "Good thinking or bad thinking?"
"Neutral thinking." He sat up slowly, his body sore in ways that had nothing to do with fighting. "Thalion's been gone a while."
Ylva's ears twitched. "So?"
"So nothing. Just noticing."
