The moon was high by the time they returned to Polis. The horses moved in silence, save for the clink of metal and the rhythm of hooves. Lanterns flickered along the gate towers. The guards snapped to attention, parting the gates for the returning Commander and her party.
Kira sat tall in the saddle, her body aching beneath the armor. Dirt, blood, and sweat clung to her skin, but her eyes were sharp, alert. It had been a victory—but not a clean one. Roan had sent a message without ever lifting a blade. Lexa had walked into a trap and survived only because they'd anticipated it. Next time, Roan might not underestimate them. Next time, it might be bloodier.
Lexa's voice drifted across the quiet road. "You're still tense."
Kira glanced over. "It wasn't a complete win."
Lexa tilted her head. "It was enough."
"'Enough' gets people killed."
Lexa's silence was her only answer for a while.
When they finally dismounted at the central tower, Lexa dismissed the rest of the guards with a flick of her fingers. Only Kira remained, tethering her horse with practiced ease before following Lexa up the spiral stairs.
They didn't speak until the war room door closed behind them.
"You had him followed?" Kira asked.
Lexa turned, surprised. "Roan?"
"I saw your shadow rider peel off the group as soon as we turned toward Polis."
Lexa crossed her arms. "You're too observant sometimes."
"You don't trust him."
"I trust him not to trust me. That's different."
Kira leaned against the table, arms folded. "And what happens when that balance tips?"
Lexa's eyes lingered on her. "Then I'll need someone beside me who sees what I can't."
The room fell silent. Not heavy—just full.
After a moment, Kira said, "You already do."
Lexa looked away.
Later, in the Commander's chambers, Kira stripped off her armor piece by piece. The motion was methodical, familiar. Every strap, buckle, and plate came away with quiet clicks. Her undershirt clung to her with dried sweat and the faint scent of smoke.
Lexa watched from across the room, still in her war paint.
"You should rest," Kira said.
Lexa didn't answer. Instead, she stepped closer, lifting a damp cloth from the washbasin and wringing it out with quiet focus. She came to Kira and began wiping the streaks of dried dirt and blood from her jaw, her temple, her neck.
The touch wasn't soft—not romantic—but it was reverent.
Kira let her, eyes closing.
After a few minutes, Lexa said, "You nearly got hit today."
"You were watching."
"I always do."
They stood close—closer than usual. The last of the battlefield scent faded beneath the warm dampness of the cloth.
Lexa's hand stilled on Kira's throat. Her voice was almost a whisper. "You scare me."
Kira opened her eyes. "Because I can hurt you?"
"Because I want you. And I don't know what that means."
Kira reached up and covered Lexa's hand with her own. "Then let's find out. Together."
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Lexa leaned in, slow and certain, and their mouths met.
It wasn't rushed. It wasn't a wildfire. It was an ache—building over weeks, drawn out between shared glances, bloodied battlefields, quiet confessions. Lips moved, breath mingled, hands clutched fabric.
Clothes were pulled away with quiet urgency. They didn't rush. They didn't speak. They simply existed—skin to skin, heart to heart—trying to drown out the rest of the world for a single night.
When it was over, they lay in the tangled sheets. Lexa's breathing slowed beside her, her fingers lightly tracing Kira's ribs.
Kira stared at the ceiling. "This changes everything."
Lexa's voice was a whisper. "Good."
The next morning, they woke to chaos.
Bellamy and Clarke had returned from Arkadia with news: Pike was rallying a faction. They didn't want peace. They wanted preemptive war.
Kira groaned. "That didn't take long."
Bellamy looked grim. "He's gaining ground. Fast. Some of our people are scared of another attack."
Clarke folded her arms. "Pike's turning their fear into something dangerous."
Lexa was already pulling her armor back on. "Then we meet it head-on."
"No," Kira said. "We play smarter."
Lexa paused. "Go on."
Kira circled the war table. "Pike's trying to justify a war with the Grounders by provoking one. So we don't give him the excuse."
Bellamy raised a brow. "And how do we do that?"
"We take Clarke," Kira said slowly. "And me. We go back to Arkadia. We talk. We find who's still willing to listen."
Lexa's face hardened. "I'm not sending you into that pit."
"You don't have a choice. You can't look like you're interfering."
Clarke nodded. "She's right."
Lexa glanced between them. Then she sighed. "Fine. But you return in three days."
"If I'm alive," Kira muttered.
Lexa didn't smile. "You will be. Or I'll raze Arkadia myself."
As they packed for departure, Kira found herself alone for a moment with Indra. The older warrior watched her carefully.
"You've become something more than a sword at Lexa's side."
Kira shrugged. "I'm just trying to keep her alive."
Indra narrowed her eyes. "You've changed her."
Kira didn't answer.
"She needs you. But need is dangerous. Especially for Heda."
"I'm not here to be her weakness."
"Then be her strength."
Kira nodded.
That night, before leaving, Lexa came to her again.
They didn't speak.
They just lay together, breathing in silence.
And when dawn broke, Kira left without a word.
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