The storm should have eased by now. Storms didn’t just sit in one place, churning like a living thing, restless and refusing to move on.

  And yet, this one did.

  Seraphine stood near the cave entrance, arms folded, watching the rain crash down in unrelenting sheets. The wind howled through the trees like a wounded animal, and for a brief moment, she almost imagined it was something else. Something unnatural.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. He was leaned back against the stone, his face unreadable, but his fingers tapped idly against his knee—a sharp contrast to his otherwise composed exterior.

  She narrowed her eyes.

  Too composed.

  "The storm isn’t letting up," she said. "This isn’t normal.”

  He exhaled, slow and even. “You wouldn’t make it far.”

  Something about the way he said it made her bristle. Not you shouldn't go, but you wouldn't make it.

  "You seem fine," she challenged.

  His gaze flickered toward her, the firelight catching in his eyes for a fraction of a second before he looked away. Outside, a gust of wind slammed against the entrance, shaking loose a few pebbles from above.

  Seraphine didn’t flinch.

  "I can wait," she said. "But since we’re stuck here, you might as well tell me the truth.”

  He huffed a quiet laugh, though there was no real humor in it. “About what?”

  She turned fully now, stepping closer, emboldened by the fact that he had nowhere to go. The air between them was thick, humming with something unnamed.

  "You always have answers. Just never the ones I want."

  His jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply.

  Outside, thunder rolled, long and low.

  She took another step, watching him carefully. "This storm—it’s unnatural."

  He held still, only his fingers moving, tapping once against his knee before stilling. A habit, she realized. Something he did when he was thinking too hard about what to say next.

  "Isn't it?" she pressed.

  Silence. A beat too long.

  And then: "Does it matter?"

  She exhaled sharply, frustrated. She should have been used to his evasions by now, but something about this moment felt different. He wasn’t just withholding information—he was actively holding something back.

  "I think it does."

  Outside, lightning flashed—bright and sudden, illuminating the cave in stark, ghostly light.

  His expression didn’t change. But something in his posture did. Just for a fraction of a second.

  The fire crackled softly in the distance, casting a flickering glow against the darkened cave. Seraphine couldn’t shake the feeling of being on the edge of something vast and unknown. The weight of silence between her and the mysterious man hung like a thick fog. Every breath she took felt heavier than the last.

  Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts—confusion, anger, and an undeniable pull toward him. But she couldn’t leave without answers. Not now.

  She watching as he kneaded something in his hands—small, unimportant, but somehow hypnotic. His movements were fluid. His silence grated on her nerves.

  “Why did you save me?”

  The words broke free before she could second-guess them. The question had been lingering in her mind since the moment she’d regained consciousness, but she hadn’t dared to ask it before. Now, it came out sharp, demanding.

  He didn’t look up immediately. His hands continued their rhythmic motion, but she could feel his awareness shift toward her, a subtle tightening in his posture. It was almost as if the world around him stilled whenever he chose to focus on something—or someone.

  "I told you not to leave," he said after a beat, his voice low and calm, though there was an undercurrent of something unreadable in it.

  She clenched her fists, the frustration mounting. “That’s not an answer.”

  He finally raised his gaze to meet hers, and she felt her breath catch. Those eyes—dark, fathomless—seemed to pierce through her. It was like looking into the depths of a shadow, too deep to see the bottom.

  “I didn’t rescue you for any particular reason,” he said, his voice quiet, almost indifferent. But Seraphine wasn’t fooled. There was something beneath the surface, something that didn’t quite add up. She could feel it.

  Her fingers twitched, itching for more. “Then why? Why pull me from the storm? Why take me here, to this place... to you?”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  His lips quirked upward ever so slightly, but it was a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe I didn’t like seeing someone drowning.”

  She arched an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You’re telling me you did it out of some kind of... pity?”

  His gaze sharpened, and she noticed the subtle shift in his posture. He stood slightly straighter, an almost imperceptible tension in his body. It wasn’t pity. That much she knew.

  “I don't do pity,” he replied, his tone now laced with something colder, harder.

  Seraphine swallowed, trying to read him. She knew he was playing with her, giving her just enough to keep her guessing. But there was more. She could feel it.

  “You say you don’t do pity, but you haven’t exactly answered my question. Why didn’t you just leave me there?” Her voice was quieter now, edged with frustration. She wasn’t backing down.

  He leaned slightly forward, his dark gaze never leaving hers. “I don’t leave things unfinished.”

  She recoiled slightly at his words, her mind flashing to his earlier statements about running. Unfinished. What did that mean for her?

  “Unfinished…” she repeated, her mind racing. “You’re telling me I’m some kind of... project?”

  His lips curled into a faint, enigmatic smile. “I told you—I don’t leave things unfinished.”

  Seraphine narrowed her eyes, trying to decipher him. “So you’re not just saving me out of some sense of duty?” She watched for his reaction.

  He didn’t flinch. “No.”

  A heavy silence stretched between them. She was growing impatient with the vague answers. She needed more. She needed to understand why her heart raced at his proximity, why the feeling of his touch lingered on her skin even after he’d let her go. Why he seemed to command everything around him.

  “What are you?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. The question had been nagging at her for some time, but now, it felt urgent. Her eyes searched his face, looking for some hint, some sign that would answer everything.

  He didn’t respond immediately. He looked at her with an unreadable expression, and for the briefest moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something deep—something dangerous—pass across his features. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

  “I’m exactly what I look like.” He said it with a hint of finality, as if he were daring her to push further.

  Seraphine felt a shiver run through her, but she refused to back down. “I don’t believe you,” she said firmly, standing her ground. “There’s something off about you. Something... different. You don’t belong here.”

  His gaze softened for just a moment, but the shift was subtle, almost imperceptible. It was as if he were considering her, measuring her words, before finally speaking.

  “I belong where I want to,” he said slowly, his tone unreadable.

  Seraphine’s pulse quickened. He was always so careful with his words. Too careful.

  “Then why did you help me?” she pressed, her voice quiet but insistent. “Why not leave me to drown?”

  He didn’t respond right away, instead turning his attention to the fire, the shadows flickering in the depths of his gaze. For a moment, Seraphine thought he might remain silent, but then he spoke, his voice low, almost a whisper.

  “I didn’t want you to be part of the storm,” he said, his words heavy with meaning.

  Seraphine frowned. "What does that mean?"

  He finally stood, moving toward her with that eerie, predatory grace. “It means,” he said, his voice so close now that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin, “that you have no idea what you're getting yourself into. You don't know what I am... what we are.”

  Her heart skipped a beat, the tension thickening between them. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could form another question, he turned away, as if dismissing the conversation.

  “Get some rest,” he said coldly, his voice carrying an edge she hadn’t heard before. "You’ll need it."

  Seraphine stood frozen, the weight of his words pressing against her like an invisible force. We are... What did he mean by that? Who—what—was he?

  She couldn’t answer the questions swirling in her mind, and yet, somehow, she knew that the answers would only bring more complications.

  But she wasn’t done. Not yet.

  Seraphine had not dreamed of him.

  That should have been a relief. She had expected him to invade her sleep, to weave himself into her unconscious thoughts the way he had wound himself around her body the night before—too close, too consuming. But the only ghosts he left were in the waking world, where his presence clung to her skin like the scent of burning embers, impossible to shake.

  She hated how she could still feel him. The heat of his breath against her ear. The slow, deliberate press of his fingers, as if he had been memorizing the shape of her surrender. She hated that her body knew the outline of his restraint—how close he had come to taking, how intentionally he had stopped.

  She hated, most of all, that she had wanted him to stay.

  Now, lying on the uneven ground of the cave, she tried to shake him off. The air was damp with the lingering storm, the scent of wet earth thick around her. Rain dripped from the cave’s mouth in a steady rhythm, a slow, deliberate sound that matched the dull pulse beneath her skin.

  She turned her head—and found him already watching her.

  He sat near the fire, the glow casting sharp shadows across his face. His posture was relaxed, his body at ease, but his gaze? Unwavering. Unrelenting.

  Seraphine exhaled, forcing herself upright.

  “You’re staring.”

  His expression didn’t change.

  “You were dreaming.”

  Her pulse kicked. No, she hadn’t been. And wasn’t that the problem? He had haunted her waking thoughts instead, lingering in the space he should not have occupied at all.

  She scoffed, running a hand over her arms, brushing away the phantom sensation of him.

  “I wasn’t.”

  A flicker of something passed through his eyes. Amusement. Annoyance. Or maybe something deeper. Something he refused to name.

  He shifted, stretching one leg out lazily, the movement deceptively casual.

  “No?”

  The single word was a challenge. A dare.

  Seraphine clenched her jaw. She had no patience for his games. Not when her body still betrayed her, thrumming with awareness. Not when she could still hear the echo of last night’s storm—not the one outside, but the one between them.

  She tore her gaze away, forcing herself to focus on the cave beyond him—the damp stone, the dwindling fire, the steady drip of water. She should be thinking about how to leave, about what awaited her beyond this place.

  Instead, she felt him.

  His presence was not just something she saw. It was something she sensed. Like a storm gathering on the horizon, waiting to break.

  And when they finally crashed together, it would not be careful.

  It would be ruinous.