Malachai did not announce himself.
He rarely did—especially here.
The door slid shut behind him with its usual soft click, seals humming into place. The room beyond was warm, carefully lit, filled with the quiet thrum of machines that existed to keep a single, stubborn life moving forward.
Elara looked up from her tablet.
She smiled immediately.
"You're late," she said.
"I was… delayed," Malachai replied.
She tilted her head. "You sound weird."
He removed his coat, set it aside with deliberate precision, and sat in the chair beside her bed. For a moment, he simply watched the readouts stabilize, his presence easing nothing measurable and everything else.
"I encountered Captain Vale today," he said at last.
Elara's eyes lit up like she'd just been handed a gift.
"Oh."
---
Malachai frowned faintly. "That reaction concerns me."
"It should," Elara said cheerfully. "Go on."
"It was accidental," he continued. "A coffee shop. Neutral territory. No hostilities."
Elara nodded solemnly. "Tragic."
"There was… conversation."
"Uh-huh."
"And coffee."
"Oh no," she breathed, eyes wide with mock horror. "Not coffee."
Malachai ignored the tone. "It was brief. Civil. Awkward."
Elara grinned. "You're doomed."
---
He glanced at her. "Explain."
She set the tablet aside and folded her hands, expression shifting into something intent and delighted. "You only describe things like that when you care."
"That is inaccurate."
"Is it?" Elara asked. "Because when you tell me about other heroes, it's 'tactical,' 'predictable,' or 'inefficient.' When you tell me about villains, it's 'dangerous' or 'useful.'"
She leaned forward slightly. "When you told me about Captain Vale just now, you said awkward."
Malachai opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Elara beamed.
---
"I do not—" he began.
"You like her," Elara said brightly.
"That is a hypothesis," Malachai replied stiffly.
"Dad," she said gently, "you reorganized your entire afternoon schedule because of a coffee shop."
He stared at the wall.
"That is circumstantial."
She snorted. "You've destroyed countries on less evidence."
---
Silence settled—not uncomfortable, just full.
Finally, Malachai spoke again, quieter. "She sees me as I am. Not as a symbol."
Elara's teasing softened, just a little.
"That's scary," she said.
"Yes."
"And nice."
"…Also yes."
She smiled at him then, warm and unmistakably proud. "I think it's good. You deserve someone who makes you stop and think."
"I stop and think constantly," he said.
She rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean."
---
He reached out, adjusting a blanket that didn't need adjusting.
"I am not pursuing anything," he said.
Elara hummed. "You're already doing it."
"I am not."
"You talked to her without armor," Elara replied. "That counts."
He went still.
"…I was wearing my mask."
She laughed outright. "That's not what I meant."
---
After a moment, she added, softer, "Do you think she likes you?"
Malachai considered the memory—the pauses, the laughter, the way she hadn't reached for a weapon or a title.
"I believe," he said carefully, "that she is conflicted."
Elara smiled, satisfied. "Same."
He looked at her sharply. "You are not helping."
"I'm helping a lot," she said. "You just don't appreciate my methodology."
---
She settled back against her pillows, eyes half-lidded now. "Promise me something?"
"What?"
"If you get another coffee with her," Elara said, "you'll tell me."
Malachai hesitated.
Then nodded. "I will inform you."
Her smile turned positively smug. "Good. Because this is the most interesting subplot in your life."
He huffed a quiet, incredulous breath.
"Go to sleep," he said.
"Yes, sir," Elara replied, closing her eyes. "Try not to accidentally fall in love before I wake up."
Malachai stood, shaken and faintly betrayed.
As he turned off the light, he paused—just once—allowing himself a small, private thought he would never say aloud:
I am in more danger than I realized.
Behind him, Elara smiled in her sleep.
She had always been very good at reading him.