The night was heavy with stillness.

  The forest had long since fallen silent—no rustling leaves, no distant calls of night birds. Even the wind had stilled, leaving only the faint crackle of the dying fire and the steady rhythm of their breathing. Shadows draped the trees in shifting darkness, the silver glow of the moon barely filtering through the dense canopy. Everything was too quiet. Unnaturally so.

  Seraphine drifted somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, her cheek pillowed against the crook of her arm. The warmth of his presence nearby lingered, barely perceptible but steady, anchoring her in the night’s hush.

  And then she heard it.

  A faint snap of a branch somewhere in the distance. The dull, muted thud of hoofbeats on damp earth.

  Her eyes opened slowly, blinking sleep from her lashes. For a moment, she thought she might’ve imagined it—until she heard the low murmur of voices.

  Hushed. Careful. But too close.

  She tensed slightly, lifting her head, her fingers curling against the coarse fabric of the cloak draped over her shoulders. The fire had burned low, its embers casting flickering red light along the jagged outcrop of stone behind them. The scent of smoke hung heavy in the cool air, masking their scent, but if the riders came too close...

  A sudden stillness in Shadow’s body behind her made her breath catch.

  He was awake. Had been awake the whole time.

  She shifted slightly to look at him, but before she could move, he was already on his feet. His hand closed around her wrist in one fluid motion, pulling her swiftly but silently to her feet. His grip was firm but careful, his fingers warm despite the chill settling over the mountainside.

  And then he moved.

  Without thought, without hesitation, he caged her between himself and the rock wall, his broad frame blocking her entirely. Her back pressed against the cold stone as he braced his arms on either side of her, his body a living barricade.

  The heat of him was sudden and overwhelming, stark against the night’s chill.

  “Stay still,” he breathed into her ear, barely more than a whisper, but firm. His voice was low, almost a growl, rough with command.

  She stilled immediately, her breath caught, chest tightening as she felt the weight of his presence—his body so close that she could feel the slow, deliberate rise and fall of his breath. The tension in him was palpable.

  His pulse hammered just beneath his skin, rapid and forceful, beating through the rigid line of his throat. His fingers curled at her waist—strong, steady—but he held her too tightly for it to be purely protective.

  For one suspended breath, she forgot about the riders. About the threat. About everything but the heat of his hand through her tunic and the rough edge of his breath against her neck.

  The voices came closer, faint and muffled. Low, guttural tones spoken in a dialect she didn’t recognize.

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  Smugglers, maybe. Bandits. Soldiers. She wasn’t sure. But whoever they were, they shouldn’t be here.

  The fire crackled softly behind them, a betraying sound in the silence. One of the figures muttered something under his breath. Another let out a dry chuckle. The horses snorted, shifting uneasily. The scent of damp leather and iron drifted in the cold air, tinged with sweat and something fouler—blood, perhaps.

  Shadow was deathly still, his body coiled with the tension of a predator poised to strike.

  Her heart pounded against her ribs, but she didn’t move.

  She let him press her into the rock, her hands gripping the front of his tunic without realizing she had done it. Her knuckles brushed the bare skin at his chest where his shirt had loosened slightly—felt the heat of him, the unyielding steel of muscle beneath.

  It was only now, with the danger passing and her senses fully attuned to him, that she truly registered their size difference. Unlike before, when fear and urgency clouded her mind, now she had the time to notice. To feel it.

  She barely reached his chest, her head tilting back against the stone just to meet his eyes. He was all lean strength and sheer size—a giant of solid muscle, towering over her own diminutive frame. The breadth of his shoulders, the power in his arms, the way he effortlessly shielded her without needing to strain—it was overwhelming. Dwarfing.

  And gods, he was too close. Too solid. Too much. The night felt too small, the space between them far too narrow.

  She could feel the faint tremor in his fingers where they pressed into her side—a subtle, telling giveaway. Not of fear, but of restraint.

  Of how hard he was holding himself back.

  A distant whistle broke the hush. A signal.

  Then, just like that, the riders passed, the sound of hooves fading slowly into the distance. The voices became faint and then disappeared entirely. The heavy stillness of the forest settled once more, but it wasn’t the same. It was raw, stretched taut between them like something waiting to snap.

  Neither of them moved. She was still pinned against the rock, her breath coming in shallow, uneven beats. His scent—smoke and something darkly familiar—lingered in the air between them. He was still pressed against her, his hand fisted at her waist.

  Too suddenly—he pulled away. As if burned.

  His hand was gone from her waist. His arms, which had braced her in place, fell back to his sides. He was on his feet before she could even register the shift, already putting distance between them. Cold air rushed in where he had been, leaving her skin aching from the loss of warmth.

  He wouldn’t look at her.

  He turned sharply, his back to her, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. His chest still heaved slightly, and his shoulders were tight with barely leashed tension.

  “This is exactly why you need to go back.” The words cut through the space between them like a blade, hard and merciless. His voice came, low and rough. Colder than it should have been. “You don’t belong in this.”

  She froze.

  The sudden cruelty of it struck her square in the chest, leaving her reeling. She hated it. Hated the sharpness in his voice. Hated the way he wielded his words like a weapon—just to push her away.

  Her hands clenched at her sides.

  “Then stop acting like I do,” she bit back. The words shot out, sharp and trembling.

  He stilled at that.

  For the briefest moment, she saw his shoulders tense, his back going rigid. She knew she had struck something, seen it in the slight flinch of his fingers at his sides.

  He didn’t turn around.

  The forest fell into silence again, but it was a different kind of stillness.

  The warmth from before was gone. Stolen by the words they’d both thrown like weapons. And neither could take them back.

  She sat by the fire, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her eyes fixed on the flames. She refused to look in his direction.

  He sat across from her, a small distance away. Far enough that it felt intentional.

  Despite the angry words and the rigid silence, neither of them moved.

  Neither of them noticed the way their bodies still unconsciously angled toward each other.

  Like gravity.

  Like they didn’t know how not to.