Caelia Vorn climbed the last wooden steps with a pulse far higher than she would ever admit.

  The air was different up here—

  cooler, quieter,

  almost intimate.

  She could still feel the salt drying on her thighs, the strap of her bikini tightening with each breath, her jaw locked to hide the obvious:

  — I shouldn’t be here.

  — Gods, why did I come?

  — Turn around. Go back now.

  But her legs kept moving.

  And then she saw her.

  Lysandra.

  Sitting on a white lounge chair, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of wine held between long, elegant fingers. She wasn’t posing.

  She wasn’t seducing.

  She simply existed.

  And that alone was enough to fill the entire terrace.

  When Caelia appeared at the top of the stairs, Lysandra didn’t startle.

  She didn’t raise an eyebrow.

  She didn’t offer a theatrical gesture.

  She just looked at her.

  As if she had calculated the exact second Caelia would arrive.

  — You’re here — she said, as if confirming something she had already known.

  Her voice was low, perfect, enveloping.

  Caelia straightened instinctively, military posture snapping into place, trying to regain a control she had already lost somewhere around the first step.

  Lysandra extended a glass toward her.

  — Northern white. Strong, clean. You’ll like it.

  Caelia hesitated for a moment.

  But she took it.

  And that single act—accepting something from someone—felt more revealing than any spoken confession.

  Lysandra took a sip, never looking away from Caelia over the rim of her glass.

  — I’ve seen you in broadcasts — she said, unhurried — several times.

  Caelia’s fingers tightened around the stem.

  Lysandra continued:

  — And from the very first one… you seemed interesting to me.

  A soft pause.

  A perfect blade.

  — As a woman.

  Something dropped inside Caelia’s stomach.

  One eyebrow lifted—small, involuntary.

  A barely noticeable shift of weight in her stance.

  But to Lysandra, it was an open book.

  — Ah — she murmured, with the faintest smile — that reached you, didn’t it?

  Caelia narrowed her eyes, uncomfortable.

  — I don’t know what you mean.

  Lysandra set her glass on the table and rose to her feet.

  Tall.

  Too tall.

  Too self-assured.

  She walked toward Caelia without haste, without posing, without exaggeration—like someone who understood perfectly that she did not need to do anything more than approach.

  She stopped at a respectful but intense distance.

  Close enough for Caelia to feel the warm shadow of her presence settle on her skin.

  — Don’t do that — Lysandra said, soft but firm — don’t try to hide your reaction.

  I like women who feel… even if they hide it well.

  Caelia didn’t have an immediate answer.

  Her breathing, always discreet, slowed by half a beat.

  One shoulder dropped a fraction.

  Her jaw eased.

  Tiny cracks.

  But they were cracks.

  Lysandra leaned in just enough that the wind couldn’t steal the line.

  — Walk with me — she said, neither command nor plea —

  I’m not going to bite you.

  A heartbeat.

  That slow smile.

  — Unless you want me to.

  Caelia did not step back.

  Lysandra stepped forward first, not waiting for a verbal answer.

  She simply walked toward the stairs that led back down to the sand, confident that Caelia would follow.

  And Caelia… did.

  The wooden steps creaked beneath her feet.

  The night breeze lifted a damp strand of hair from her shoulder.

  Fine sand clung to her legs, cool, delicate, as if conspiring in the moment.

  They walked a few meters in silence, between the soft shadows of the closed cabanas.

  Lysandra never faced her directly; she watched Caelia from the corner of her eye, as if studying every breath she took.

  It wasn’t uncomfortable.

  It was… dangerous.

  — You’re taller than you look on screen — Lysandra said at last, her tone casual, unforced — and more beautiful. But you knew that already.

  Caelia frowned.

  — I’m not beautiful. I’m military.

  — And who decided those two things are mutually exclusive?

  The answer hit harder than Caelia expected.

  Hard enough that she turned her face toward the sea, as though the horizon might offer her an escape.

  Lysandra smiled faintly.

  — Your body gives you away, you know — she continued, voice low, steady — you try to march… and you end up walking like a woman.

  Caelia almost stumbled.

  — I’m not—

  — Shh — Lysandra raised one hand slightly, not to silence her but to mark the moment — it isn’t a criticism. It’s a compliment.

  And it’s the first time you haven’t built a wall to block it.

  Caelia’s stomach tightened.

  She had received compliments before—

  but never like this.

  Never from someone who didn’t say them to gain leverage, but because she saw something worth naming.

  Lysandra’s gaze dropped to Caelia’s hand, still holding the wine glass with stiff, unnecessary discipline.

  Then she did it.

  She brushed Caelia’s fingers.

  Just the faintest touch.

  So light it could almost be mistaken for the wind… except that Caelia felt her heart stop for a beat.

  Lysandra kept walking, letting her hand graze Caelia’s arm this time—slow, deliberate, undeniably intentional.

  — You don’t trust me — she murmured without looking at her.

  — No — Caelia replied, honest.

  — Good. Women like you shouldn’t trust anyone at first.

  But trust isn’t what I asked from you.

  Caelia stopped for an instant.

  Lysandra did too.

  — Then what did you ask for? — Caelia’s voice was lower than she meant it to be.

  Lysandra took a single step closer.

  Just one.

  Enough for their bodies to feel the heat of the other.

  — For you to feel — she whispered — only that.

  And right now… you’re feeling far more than you want to admit.

  Caelia opened her mouth to deny it—

  and failed.

  Lysandra’s hand slid down Caelia’s side, tracing the firm line of her waist, stopping at the curve of her hip.

  Just enough to make breath impossible to hide.

  Caelia swallowed hard.

  Lysandra leaned in, her voice brushing against Caelia’s skin:

  — I won’t take a step you can’t take.

  But I will give you space to choose.

  Her hand pressed gently at Caelia’s waist;

  the other rose to her nape, a question rather than a command.

  Caelia didn’t move away.

  That was her answer.

  Lysandra kissed her.

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  A deep, certain kiss that stole the air from Caelia’s lungs and dragged a silent sound from her throat she didn’t know she could make.

  The commander responded.

  Firm.

  Hungry.

  As though the kiss were the first thing that had managed to unmake her in years.

  When they finally parted, Caelia was breathing too fast.

  Lysandra smiled against her lips, satisfied in a way that didn’t need arrogance.

  She took Caelia’s hand.

  — Come.

  Together they crossed the sand toward the stairs leading to a private suite above the beach.

  Lysandra unlocked the door with a key already in her possession, as though everything had been orchestrated with delicate precision.

  The suite opened before them, silent and warm.

  Lysandra guided her inside.

  The door closed behind them with a soft thud that shut out the murmur of the lounge.

  The air inside the suite was warm, scented with salt and damp wood.

  Caelia had barely regained her breath when Lysandra stepped toward her again—slowly, as if measuring each movement according to what Caelia wanted… or refused to admit wanting.

  She took Caelia by the waist once more, this time with more certainty, as if that first kiss had given her all the confirmation she needed.

  Caelia didn’t step back.

  Her pulse burned at the base of her throat, a strange mixture of alertness and desire.

  Lysandra tilted her face and kissed her again.

  Slower at first.

  Deeper as it continued.

  Caelia responded with a strength she didn’t realize she had been holding in.

  Her fingers found Lysandra’s shoulders—solid, warm—and gripped them as if she needed something to hold on to in order not to lose control.

  The kiss stretched on.

  It was hunger and calm at once.

  It was the feeling of finally letting a sword fall after years of carrying its weight.

  Lysandra’s hand slid along Caelia’s back, tracing the tense line of her muscles, lowering to the curve of her hip and holding her there with a confidence that didn’t demand permission… but did expect an answer.

  Caelia gave it.

  A tiny shift forward.

  Just a few centimeters.

  Enough.

  Lysandra smiled against her mouth, as if she had been waiting for that exact gesture.

  — Stay with me a moment — she murmured, her voice low, trembling only from uneven breath.

  She guided Caelia toward the center of the suite.

  There was no rush.

  Only the subtle brush of fingers linking briefly—

  the only deliberate concession Caelia allowed herself.

  The sound of the shower began at the far end of the bathroom, a steady murmur.

  Warm light filtered through the doorway, casting soft shadows that moved with the rising steam.

  Caelia stepped toward the threshold.

  Lysandra waited just beyond it, her silhouette blurred by the white mist.

  And the intensity continued there—

  in the breath they shared as they neared each other again,

  in the last kiss they stole before disappearing fully into the vapor.

  The bathroom door closed behind them.

  Back in the bar...

  Warm but not overwhelming, just enough to make my skin hum.

  I let myself sink back onto the lounge chair, my bikini loosened because honestly I had no intention of pretending decorum for a country that had already seen me scream with a sword in my hand.

  My sunglasses protected me from the world.

  The breeze brushed my legs.

  The salt on my skin made me feel… calm.

  Strangely calm.

  Velka, beside me, was perched like a beach queen, sipping something pink while staring toward the terrace with one eyebrow raised.

  — Mmm… the commander is taking her sweet time — she sing-songed.

  Neyra didn’t even lift her eyes from her fake book (she was obviously checking her own analytics online).

  — And does that shock you? — she sighed — since the owner walked by, Caelia was basically devouring her with her eyes.

  You thought it too.

  Velka growled as if she’d been caught.

  — I didn’t say it was bad! I’m just saying if I were six feet tall with arms like columns, I’d take a little extra time upstairs with—

  Neyra elbowed her in the stomach.

  Without mercy.

  Velka folded in half.

  — AGH! Traitor!

  I smiled under my lenses.

  — Let her be. If Caelia decided to breathe a little, she earned it — I murmured.

  I adjusted the strap of my bikini… or, well, loosened it even more.

  It was so loose any wave could steal it, but I didn’t care.

  Aurelis had seen enough of me for the week.

  I closed my eyes.

  The sun embraced me.

  And then—

  A familiar voice burst like confetti.

  — BEAUTIES! FOREIGN GODDESSES! MY REEF LOOKS PRETTIER WITH YOU HERE!

  Mirabel Corazón Sterling came dancing across the sand.

  A one-piece swimsuit… though “one-piece” was generous, since the cutouts on the sides showed even more skin than a bikini.

  The kind of woman who made cameras follow her even when they were off.

  She greeted us by blowing a kiss into the air.

  — I only see three — she said dramatically, counting with her finger — where’s the fourth goddess?

  Velka inhaled, ready to say something obscene.

  Neyra elbowed her again.

  — She went for a walk — Neyra answered sweetly — to cool off a bit.

  Mirabel made a musical “ohh,” as if she understood more than she let on.

  Then she turned to me.

  And smiled like she was about to drop a bomb.

  — Lyss, darling… sweetheart, your nipple is already trending nationwide.

  I blinked behind my glasses.

  — What?

  She turned her phone toward me.

  There were memes.

  Edits.

  A new sticker called “Crown Beach Edition.”

  Velka was laughing so hard she almost spilled her drink.

  — I had no idea — I said flatly, because honestly I didn’t have the strength to process it.

  The other two looked at me with that she’s pretending she didn’t know expression, because that’s who I am.

  Mirabel dropped onto a free lounge chair, glowing like a solar deity.

  — Well, well, well… I actually came to tell you something MUCH more fun.

  I had a genius idea.

  I want you to be special guests at my concert tomorrow!

  Velka raised her hand without asking what the event even involved.

  — YES!

  Neyra and I stared at her like she was a dog chewing on a designer dress.

  — You’re not even going to ask what it means? — I asked.

  — No! It’s Mirabel — she answered — what could possibly go wrong?

  A lot, I thought.

  But her energy was contagious.

  Neyra nodded with the serenity of someone accustomed to chaos.

  — It would be good for diplomatic image — she added, because of course she could find the academic angle even half-naked on a beach.

  Mirabel pulled out her phone.

  — Perfect! Then I’m announcing it.

  Selfie time!

  Suddenly she was between us, radiant, smelling of sweet fruit and sea breeze, lifting her phone for the shot.

  — Smile, my foreign goddesses.

  Mirabel checked the selfie two, three times, as if she were evaluating lighting, angles, and maximum viral potential.

  Then she turned toward us with the kind of smile people give right before proposing something outrageous.

  — Perfect. If I’m going to exploit your temporary fame, then at least let me spoil you.

  Today… I want to be your official ambassador. I’ll give you an exotic tour of this whole divine beach.

  Velka actually clapped.

  — I love the word exotic!

  Neyra gave her a soft look of elegant resignation.

  — And we have to wait for Caelia, right?

  — Mmm… yes —Mirabel nodded—. If all four of you don’t come, I get yelled at.

  She settled into our palapa like she’d been born in it, then raised her hand to call a server.

  — Three orders of Tropical Aquamarine, one Coral Fruit Tower, and… mmm… bring some Coastal Saltbread too. Thank you!

  I stayed stretched out on my lounger, no sunglasses now, letting the sunlight warm my closed eyelids.

  Mirabel watched us, something clearly burning on her tongue.

  Then—

  — Girls… what’s war like?

  I opened my eyes.

  Velka stopped twisting her drink.

  Neyra lowered her phone.

  — What do you mean, what’s it like? —I asked—. You’ve never been in one?

  Mirabel leaned in, conspiratorial, lowering her voice as if sharing a forbidden secret.

  — No…

  Honestly, it scares me a little.

  She straightened, cheerful again, brushing the confession off like spilled glitter:

  — Anyway, the ones who handle that stuff are our regular forces—soldiers, pilots, engineers…

  Because, I mean, those planes you all have… what are they called? That model that looks like a sleek shark…

  — The F-29A Raptorion —Neyra answered.

  — Yes! Those. We manufacture them here in New Althameria. They’re, well… last generation now, but still gorgeous.

  Velka arched an amused eyebrow.

  — And why are you telling us this, hmm? Trying to flirt with us using military trivia?

  Mirabel hesitated for a heartbeat.

  A heartbeat where her lashes lowered.

  A heartbeat where she decided how much truth to release into the sunlit air.

  Finally, she sighed.

  — I don’t know… I just really like you all.

  There’s something… genuine in the way you are with each other.

  The four of you feel like… like real sisters.

  Neyra tilted her head.

  — Don’t you get along like that with the other icons?

  — I do —Mirabel said—. But… I don’t know. Sometimes it feels too manufactured.

  The most authentic one is Aurora, but even with her… —her gaze dropped— …things don’t always flow naturally.

  I watched Mirabel draw a small circle in the sand with her fingertip.

  A tiny, sad gesture.

  Then she suddenly straightened, forcing the brightness back into her aura.

  — Enough gray thoughts. I didn’t come here to depress myself.

  We just need to wait until Caelia returns, and then we can start our divine tour.

  Velka raised her drink in a premature toast.

  Neyra smiled softly.

  And I breathed in the warm breeze, realizing for the first time that Mirabel was… more than a shining star.

  She was a girl who didn’t know what war felt like.

  And she was asking us what the world feels like when it breaks.

  The server returned with a rolling cart full of bright, beautiful dishes:

  steaming Tropical Aquamarine, the Coral Fruit Tower gleaming like edible jewelry, and warm Coastal Saltbread wrapped in sweet-smelling vapor.

  Mirabel tapped the table twice with excitement.

  — Perfect! Now this is a feast.

  And then—

  as if she had timed her entrance for dramatic impact—

  Caelia appeared.

  I saw her first from the corner of my eye: rigid posture, steps too measured, way too measured.

  Then I looked up… and almost choked on my drink.

  Because something was wrong.

  Very wrong.

  Her hair—perfectly tied up this morning—was now falling in loose waves, messy, wild, like she’d fought the wind… or someone.

  Her lips had a suspicious sheen.

  And worst of all, the unforgivable, impossible-to-ignore detail:

  A violet mark, poorly hidden under makeup, glowing on her collarbone.

  Velka didn’t need anything more.

  — OH, NO FUC— —she coughed mid-sip—.

  Did you fall into an industrial vacuum cleaner or WHAT, Caelia?

  Caelia stopped.

  Breathed.

  Blink.

  Her soul briefly left her body.

  — I… slipped —she said, military tone cracked to dust.

  Neyra brought a hand to her mouth—not in shock, but to stop herself from laughing.

  Mirabel opened her mouth like a startled little bird.

  And me?

  I just thought:

  Gods, someone had her against a wall. Or a table. Or both. And more than once.

  The mark didn’t lie.

  Neither did her posture.

  Or the tension in her legs.

  Velka, merciless and glorious:

  — You slipped… onto someone’s mouth?

  Caelia closed her eyes for a full second, summoning patience from every spirit in existence.

  — It’s not relevant.

  — It’s EXTREMELY relevant, sweetheart —Mirabel sing-songed, delighted—.

  Besides, I’m thrilled the owner of the Lounge is so… hospitable to our visitors.

  Caelia choked on the air.

  Literally.

  I leaned in, very serious, very formal:

  — Do you want me to support your neck? In case you faint?

  She shot me a death glare.

  But the blush… betrayed her completely.

  Mirabel clapped once, breaking the thick erotic tension surrounding our poor commander:

  — All right, all right. We’re all here, and the food arrived.

  Once you’ve eaten, I’ll give you the full exotic tour of the beach!

  Velka raised her drink.

  — A toast to our commander —she said with teasing affection—.

  She finally did something for fun and not for duty.

  Caelia buried her face in her plate like she wished to die there on the spot.

  And I…

  I smiled behind my glass.

  Because the day was just beginning.

  The sun kept moving above us as if it were in a hurry to fall.

  Mirabel took us through the entire private coast:

  ziplining over turquoise water, climbing giant sand sculptures, drinking absurd cocktails with even more absurd names.

  Velka forced Mirabel into a spontaneous beach–dance contest.

  Neyra ended up teaching two tourists how to float “without fighting the water.”

  And me…

  I just let go.

  Salt, laughter, wind—

  a kind of happiness I hadn’t felt in years.

  By the time the afternoon turned orange, we were tired, sun-kissed, messy, and genuinely happy.

  Until Mirabel’s phone chimed.

  She was walking a few steps ahead of us, checking the screen…

  when she froze.

  Something in her spine tightened.

  Something in her breathing changed.

  — …Oh no —she whispered, so softly it barely existed.

  I approached, my stomach dropping.

  — What happened?

  Mirabel didn’t answer right away.

  First she swallowed.

  Then she looked at the other two.

  And finally she met my eyes… as if bracing me for a blow she knew would hurt.

  She turned the phone.

  Slowly.

  The way someone reveals a wound.

  And there it was.

  Caelia.

  On the terrace.

  Kissing Lysandra like the world wasn’t real.

  Hands… very much where they shouldn’t be.

  The second photo was even more intimate.

  The third…

  the third made any excuse impossible.

  Velka dropped her drink. Literally.

  Neyra put a hand to her chest, checking her heartbeat like it might be off.

  And I…

  I felt the sand under my feet shift.

  Mirabel lowered the phone slowly.

  Her voice was soft, guilty, sincere:

  — Girls… this is already everywhere.

  And if I have it…

  Aurelis will have it in ten minutes.

  The wind stopped being warm.

  The afternoon light stopped being pretty.

  Something in the air cracked.

  And just like that, with that image still glowing on the screen…

  our perfect day ended.