The Dead Sheep flew close behind the Typhoon, its bulk less impressive but unmistakably alive with quiet motion. From a distance, it seemed a shadow drawn by loyalty alone, pulled in the wake of the warship's momentum. Both ships moved slow, carried by vast engines and the pulse of unseen beastcores, flanked by clouds tinged lavender from the thinning dusk.
Inside the smaller frigate, in a cabin framed by practical comforts and mild enchantments, Aleks and Lyn sat across from each other. A tea set, modest and well-used, steamed between them. The scent was soft, spiced with something floral and faintly coastal.
Aleks took a careful sip, his gaze distant. He looked older than he had a few months ago. Not in years, but in the way light caught beneath his eyes, and how his posture dipped just enough to suggest strain where none had been before.
"This is good." He said eventually, setting the cup back with both hands. "Warmer than I expected."
