The fifth? Marcus blinked, counting on his fingers like he was double-checking the math. "Edric, Corvin, Silas... and me." Yeah. That's four. He tried again, counting slower this time just to be sure—still four. He looked at Emma, confusion creasing his brow. "Ms. Tibarn, there are only three ahead of me, right? Did someone new show up while I was asleep?" He thought, There are only five of us left. Lucien has already bonded, which makes four. So how am I fifth? Emma's expression didn't so much as twitch. "The fourth is Lucien. We haven't officially bonded yet. I just used Aurelia's secret arts to forge a temporary bond." Marcus' shoulders sagged like a man hearing bad news from the universe. "So... I really am fifth." He huffed softly. "Figures." Not like he had a say in the matter anyway. He couldn't exactly argue with his huntress. "Ms. Tibarn, if you don't need anything else, I'm heading back to crash for a bit." He turned and trudged back toward his room, the faint chill around him trailing like fog. Moments later, Silas appeared—freshly changed, hair still damp, uniform immaculate. He caught a glimpse of Marcus retreating, then turned to Emma. "Leave him. He's not dying." After all, the only thing anyone hoped for now was that he didn't try another dumb stunt. Emma's gaze drifted over Silas. It wasn't his command gear this time—it was the Empire's standard military uniform, all silver-gray precision and quiet power. The fabric hugged his shoulders just right, the star on his epaulet catching the light like something out of a recruitment ad. Even the way his collar sat, crisp and sharp, drew her eyes to the steady line of his throat. Silas caught her look and smirked, slow and knowing. He leaned in, close enough for his breath and the faint brush of his lips to warm her ear. "I've got a few more sets like this. Come to my room tonight. I'll try them on for you."They couldn't bond yet, sure—but that didn't mean they couldn't have a little fun. He tilted his head slightly, tone teasing. "I've got other outfits too. You'll like them." Emma fought the smile tugging at her lips. Smooth b*stard. Her mind wandered—just for a second—to the time he'd picked out those barely-there pajamas for her. She thought, Does he also have something that revealing for himself? The thought was enough to color her cheeks. "I'll come find you after training tonight," she replied quietly. A flicker of mischief lit his eyes before he leaned in and kissed her—soft, deliberate, the kind of kiss that lingered long enough to steal her breath. If he didn't have work waiting, he'd have carried her off right then. Instead, he fixed her collar, his thumb gently grazing her jaw as he whispered, "Wait for me." The words were low but laced with promise. A few minutes later, Lucien emerged from the kitchen. "Emma, breakfast's ready. Come eat before it gets cold." So, she's got a thing for males in uniform, he thought dryly. Noted. Emma blinked, shaking off her daze. "Coming." Lucien had made a simple spread—fluffy biscuits and a pot of warm oatmeal. He'd followed the recipe Emma had shown him before, and the whole kitchen smelled like comfort. He'd prepared plenty and sent word to Edric and Marcus—who, somehow, had already crawled back out of his crystal coffin. Marcus entered still dressed head-to-toe in white, looking like walking frost. He eyed the table with mild curiosity. "What's this?" "Breakfast," Edric answered between bites. "Lucien made it. Try it. It's good." Marcus took a biscuit and swallowed it whole. No chewing. Emma froze mid-bite. How has this male survived this long? Still, curiosity got the better of her. "Marcus, do you seriously not chew?" He slumped over the table, his voice thin. "Too much hassle. Doesn't matter anyway. I can't taste a thing." Emma frowned, concern flashing across her face. "You can't taste? Are you sick?" Sitting beside her, Lucien spoke evenly, "His mental power's unstable. It's numbing his senses." Edric nodded in agreement. "When your mental power starts swinging that hard, it doesn't just dull your taste. It scrambles all five senses." Marcus leaned back in his chair, expression blank. "Right now, I've got no taste or smell. Just sight, hearing, and touch." Emma blinked in surprise. "How come I've never seen anything about that on the lightcore?" She frowned inwardly. The lightcore only ever reports therians blowing themselves up when they lose control—never a word about losing their senses. Lucien stirred his oatmeal, his tone measured. "The Empire filters what it shows. The lightcore only shares what the brass approves. Most things never make it to the feed unless someone digs deep—and even then, the system only lets a few slip through. Once something's flagged as restricted, it's gone for good." Emma leaned back, quiet. Her entire understanding of the Empire came from the lightcore—and now, it felt like the floor had shifted beneath her. Marcus took another biscuit and this time actually chewed twice before swallowing. Still, there was nothing—no flavor or warmth, nothing to anchor him to the meal.