I should pull away. I should move, speak,breathe—but I don’t. I can’t. Something in me, something unspoken and primal,knowshim.
Knows him the way the ocean knows the pull of the moon. The way fire knows the taste of air. The way something that’s lost knowswhen it’s been found. The realization grips me like a vise, and my breath falters. His gaze travels slowly over me, like he's memorizing the shape of me, committing every detail to memory.
"Are you all right?" he asks, his voice cutting through the air.
I blink, the spell fracturing just enough for me to find my voice.
"I'm fine." My words come more fierce than I intend, and I hate the way they shake at the edges.
His lips twitch into something that isn’t quite a smirk but isn’tnotone either. A hint of delight flickers behind his eyes, almost unreadable. His grip on my arm lingers a second too long before he lets go, and even when the space between us returns, his warmth remains—an invisible tether, an echo of a touch I’ll feel for hours.
I take a step back, as if distance will sever whateverthisis, but the air remains charged. I tilt my chin up, forcing sarcasm to mask the unease in my chest.
"Do you always lurk in corners, waiting to catch people off guard?"
Something dark flits across his expression—pleasure, intrigue, or something far more dangerous.
"Only when the opportunity arises." His tone is smooth, unbothered, measured.
I cross my arms, as if that could shield me from the force of his confidence.
"How convenient for you."
His smirk deepens slightly, just enough to make my pulse jump.
"Convenient?" he repeats, as if savoring the word. Then, leaning in just enough to make the closeness unbearable, he adds, “I wouldn’t say that. But it’s hard to ignore when something is so...interesting.”
I shift on my feet, but his eyes follow my movements, lingering on my mask with an unsettling intensity. His gaze burrows into me as if he’s uncovering something hidden just beneath my skin. I can feel the weight of it, and it sends a small wave of unease through me.
“And what exactly do you find so interesting?” I ask, my voice a little too breathless.
He tilts his head, studying me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
“You’re harder to read than most.” The words are quiet, almost thoughtful. “That doesn’t happen often.”
I swallow, forcing my voice to steady. “Maybe I don’t want to be read.”
Something shifts in his expression, subtle but undeniable.
“That’s a shame,” he murmurs, low and thoughtful.
My breath catches, my stomach tightening. The space between us feels too small, too charged, like the air itself might crack and splinter from the force of it.
"What’s your name?" he asks, his words like a hook catching me and drawing me in closer.
I hesitate. There is something treacherous about giving him my name—something that feels like a risk. I tilt my head, letting my own smirk pull at the corner of my lips.
"I don’t give my name out to strangers."
He doesn’t react right away. He just watches me, his gaze steady. Then, after a pause, he offers, "Cas."
I raise an eyebrow. "JustCas?"
He leans in, his voice lowering to something intimate.
"Casper. But those I like can call me Cas."
A quiet chill runs through me, unexpected and unwelcome. I force a small, sarcastic laugh.
