Malvor didn't choose sleep. It chose him, after hours of quiet, of holding her heartbeat steady with his own, of daring to believe she might be okay.
He had one arm curled beneath her, the other over her waist, protective and reverent. She was warm. Breathing evenly. No nightmares. No shivers. Just Annie.
So he closed his eyes.
Just for a moment.
The scream was soundless.
But it tore through the room like a thunderclap.
Malvor jolted awake instantly, senses snapping into sharp focus, heart crashing in his chest.
Annie.
She was thrashing in the bed, a low, broken sob stuck somewhere behind her teeth, her mouth wide open in a silent scream, arms flailing as if she were fighting something off, something only she could see.
"Annie!" he gasped, grabbing her wrists, trying to anchor her. "Annie, wake up! Wake up!"
She didn't.
Not at first.
She struggled in his hold, eyes clenched shut, breath coming in sharp, stuttered bursts. She tried to speak, he could see it, but nothing came out. Just more panicked wheezing.
"Annie, please, it's me, love, it's me. I've got you."
Her body jerked once more, then froze.
And then—
She woke.
With a violent inhale, her eyes flew open, pupils blown wide, skin cold and damp with sweat.
She blinked.
Gasped again.
And just shook her head.
No words.
No sign language.
Just trembling hands and a haunted look that hollowed out her face.
Malvor pulled her into his lap instantly, arms wrapping around her like armor. He rocked her, murmuring soft words into her hair, trying to smooth the shakes from her shoulders.
"It's okay. You're safe. You. Are. Safe. My Heart, you're here."
But her eyes never focused on the room.
They stayed distant. Flickering with something deeper. Something darker.
He thought about Aerion. About the way she looked when she was left on his doorstep, bloodied and silent.
He thought maybe it was finally catching up to her.
The trauma. The horror. The cost.
That maybe, even in her strength, she couldn't carry it all forever.
What he didn't know…
What neither of them truly realized yet…
Was that it never left.
It had simply waited.
And Annie?
She had never stopped moving.
From one hurt to the next.
From one wound to the next.
From one god's altar to another.
She had survived by never stopping.
And now, lying in his arms, her voice still stolen, her body still shaking—
She couldn't stop.
Not really.
Because stopping meant remembering.
And remembering?
That meant breaking.
Malvor kissed her temple, whispering a new name against her skin.
"My Valkyrie."
And held her tighter.
Even as she stared past him, into something only she could see.
Malvor rose with a gentleness that didn't match his usual flair. He pulled on a loose shirt, padded barefoot through the halls of Arbor, and went straight to the kitchen.
She needed something strong.
But also sweet.
Something that tasted like trying again.
He conjured two shots of espresso, added cream, vanilla, a splash of something cold and caramelly, and then enough sugar to make even Brigitte cringe. Ice clinked softly as he stirred it, condensation already forming on the sides of the glass.
He returned to the bedroom just as Annie was sitting up, the sheets slipping down her arms. She looked pale, tired, but no longer trembling.
He handed her the drink.
She took it, gave a small nod of thanks, and sipped.
Her face contorted immediately at the taste.
He smirked. "Too sweet?"
She raised an eyebrow and signed: I love you.
Middle two fingers folded. Thumb out.
A perfect heart in one hand.
His smirk faded into something softer, something real.
He reached for her hand, lifted it to his lips, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Even when you can't say it… I hear it."
They laid back down together, quiet, the iced coffee balanced between them. No rush. No noise. Just legs tangled, heads nestled, fingertips brushing over each other's skin like promises made in passing.
Eventually, he shifted beside her, propping his chin on her shoulder.
"I have decided," he announced solemnly, "that we are going on a wine sampling tour."
She blinked at him.
"In the mortal realm," he clarified. "Obviously. Do you really think I'd trust you to divine alcohol in your current condition? You'd fall into a vat of ambrosia wine."
She snorted silently into her coffee.
"With cheese platters," he added. "And crostinis. And those little things that look like olives but are actually disappointment."
Before she could argue, he snapped his fingers.
With a shimmer of mischief and divine miscalculation, both of them were suddenly dressed in the most ridiculous tourist outfits imaginable.
She now wore a massive floppy sun hat, obnoxiously wide with a pink ribbon, as well as oversized sunglasses, a breezy sundress patterned with grapes, and sandals adorned with tiny wine charms.
He wore a matching "Grape Expectations" shirt with a fake wine stain printed over the heart, tan cargo shorts, and the most offensive socks with sandals combo the universe had ever witnessed.
Annie blinked at their reflections in the mirror across the room.
Malvor held out his arm proudly. "Shall we, Lady Vino?"
She signed one word:
Tragic.
He grinned like a god delighted by his own existence.
"Exactly the vibe I was going for."
With a flourish of his hand and a glimmer of magic, they vanished, reappearing on the cobbled path of a vineyard in full golden afternoon light, ready to pretend everything was normal for just one day.
The first vineyard was nestled between soft green hills, sunlight drenching the rows of vines in gold. Everything smelled like earth and crushed fruit, and the air was just breezy enough to make her giant floppy hat flap like a sentient creature.
Malvor led her into the open air tasting room like he was born there.
He was not.
"Ah yes," he murmured, swirling his wine glass with theatrical flair as the sommelier explained the vintage, "you can really taste the existential dread in this one. Mmm. Peach pits and poor decisions."
Annie gave him a flat look over the rim of her glass.
The sommelier blinked. "It's… citrus forward."
Malvor nodded gravely. "Exactly what I said."
They moved from table to table, her arm linked through his, sampling whites, rosés, and reds with increasingly dramatic commentary from Malvor:
"This one tastes like betrayal in a velvet glove."
"Do you feel that? That's a wine that pays taxes."
"I think this one is just grapes and lies."
Annie didn't say a word, but she didn't need to. Her laughter shook her shoulders, silent but pure, eyes crinkled above her sunglasses. Every now and then, she'd rest her head on his shoulder, the sun warming her skin, her hand always in his.
And every time, he'd steal a kiss from beneath the brim of her absurd hat, whispering something only she could hear.