She opened her door and turned to lean against the frame. She tried to stifle a yawn, failing, and smiled at him. "Goodnight, Numair." The barracks were quiet, most occupants fast asleep after long hours in the sun, and their only company were the fireflies that languished with them in the warm summer air. She lingered, hand clutching the frame, as she watched him.

He studied her, the way her eyes focused on him despite her fatigue and the way her fingers traced circles against the frame—wondering what they would feel like tracing circles on his skin. He licked his lips, two paths on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to tell her that he didn't want the night to end, but if it had to he wanted it to be with her by his side come sunrise. He spoke the second, well traveled road instead. "Goodnight, Daine." He was already moving away when he heard her door close.