When Kira opened her eyes, the sky beyond the window was a pale slate of dawn blue, streaked faintly with silver mist. The fire in the hearth had dwindled to embers, glowing softly beneath the stone mantel. The room was quiet—thick with the kind of silence that followed truth.
Lexa was still sleeping beside her, one arm draped across Kira's waist, her breath warm against the curve of Kira's shoulder. In sleep, she looked years younger. Vulnerable, but not weak—like someone who carried the weight of a world on her back and was finally allowed to set it down for a few hours.
Kira studied her face for a while.
This wasn't what she'd expected, back when she first woke in this world. Back when all she cared about was survival, using what she knew of the show to stay alive, maybe tilt events in a better direction. She hadn't come here for love. Certainly not for something this soft, this careful.
But Lexa… she hadn't been just the Commander. Not to her.
Not anymore.
Kira shifted gently, placing a hand on Lexa's arm. She didn't want to disturb the peace between them, but she knew it wouldn't last.
The world outside didn't care about stolen mornings.
Lexa stirred a moment later, her eyes blinking open. "You're awake," she murmured, voice still husky with sleep.
"Didn't mean to wake you."
"I don't mind." She smiled faintly. "I wasn't dreaming anything worth keeping."
Kira smirked. "Wanna bet?"
Lexa lifted herself on one elbow, gaze running along Kira's bare shoulder. "Fair point."
They lay like that for a while longer, stealing time, until the knock came at the door.
A sharp, deliberate rhythm.
Lexa was out of bed in a heartbeat, wrapping herself in the robe she'd dropped on the floor last night. Her commander mask settled over her face like armor, shoulders drawn tight with instinctive caution.
Kira remained calm, sliding off the bed and retrieving her clothes in smooth, practiced motions. She didn't reach for a weapon—yet—but her senses were razor-sharp.
The door opened to reveal Indra.
She took one glance inside the room, paused just long enough to let the implications settle, then turned to Lexa.
"There's been an incident," Indra said without emotion. "Clarke's party was ambushed on their way to the southern outpost."
Lexa's posture stiffened. "Casualties?"
"Two of the guards. Clarke is unharmed."
"And the attackers?"
"Not confirmed. But the markings match Azgeda raiders."
Kira exhaled slowly. "Roan's been quiet lately. Too quiet."
Lexa nodded. "Prepare the council. I'll speak to them within the hour. Kira—"
"I'm coming with you," Kira said before she could finish.
Lexa didn't argue.
By midday, the war room pulsed with quiet urgency. Maps lay unrolled across the central table, inked with clan territories, known rebel movement patterns, and the newest mark—Clarke's ambush site.
Clarke stood at the far end of the room, a pale bruise blooming across her cheekbone but otherwise intact. She met Kira's eyes briefly as she entered, and something unreadable passed between them.
Kira approached. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," Clarke said quickly, but her voice was tight. "But this was calculated. Not some wandering raiders."
Lexa stood between them, her presence commanding. "Azgeda has broken no direct terms of our truce, not yet. But we will respond."
"With diplomacy?" Clarke asked, frustrated.
Kira answered for her. "With intelligence."
Lexa met Kira's gaze. "You have something in mind."
"I want to go to the border," Kira said. "Quietly. Not with guards, not as an envoy. Let them think we're turning a blind eye. But I'll be watching."
Lexa hesitated. "It's dangerous."
"I can handle dangerous." Her tone softened just a touch. "You know I can."
Lexa nodded. "Take one of my shadows. And bring back proof."
That night, Kira rode out alone under the guise of a supply scout, her gear packed carefully into her inventory space. Hidden weapons, survival rations, a sealed envelope from Lexa with an official seal—one she was only to open if caught.
She moved quickly, using old logging trails and narrow deer paths to slip past the patrol lines. The borderlands were colder, the trees taller and more twisted. The shadows moved here, and not all of them were friendly.
Three nights into her mission, Kira found what she was looking for.
A campfire deep in the woods, shielded by stone and thicket. Five men, all marked with the ice-blue war paint of Azgeda. One of them wore Polis armor—taken from a corpse, no doubt.
Kira watched them from a ridge, her breath silent, her body still.
They spoke in low tones. She caught fragments.
"…Queen's orders…"
"…strike again soon…"
"…Commander's pet won't see it coming…"
Her blood chilled.
They knew she was in play.
Kira waited until one broke off from the group to relieve himself in the trees. She moved like smoke—silent, lethal.
By the time she returned to Polis, she carried proof in the form of a bloodstained sash and a map from the campfire, marked with the next planned attacks.
Lexa met her alone in the war chamber.
She studied the evidence carefully, then raised her eyes. "You risked your life."
Kira shrugged, breathless from the journey. "You kissed me. I figured I should return the favor."
Lexa let out a breath—half laugh, half something too tender to name.
Then, softly, she said, "Don't ever disappear without telling me again."
Kira smirked. "Wasn't planning to. But maybe next time, you'll come with me."
Lexa stepped closer, her hand brushing Kira's wrist. "Maybe I will."
They stood like that in the quiet, surrounded by the scent of war ink and burning oil, tangled in the mess of politics, violence, and something far more dangerous:
Hope.
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