He gave her hand a gentle tug. Turning away from the others, he pulled her along with him, leaving Harold and Gregory standing behind, watching them go.
***
“Damn it,” Sophia hissed softly, leaning closer to the bathroom mirror.
The warm light above the sink cast a soft glow over her skin. Just below her collarbone, faint red marks stood out far too clearly. Her brows knit together as she lifted her hand and pressed her fingers against them, testing the tenderness.
“These need to disappear before I go to work tomorrow…” she murmured.
She rubbed at the marks with slow, frustrated strokes, hoping pressure alone might fade them. Instead, the skin only grew warmer, the color standing out even more vividly.
“How am I supposed to fix this?” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
The bathroom was quiet.
Then, faint footsteps sounded behind her.
Sophia froze.
Her fingers stilled against her skin. Her shoulders tensed.
Her eyes flicked up instinctively—and met Magnus’s reflection in the mirror.
He had entered without a word, filling the doorway behind her. The contrast between his strong frame and the pale bathroom light made his presence feel even heavier. Sophia stiffened, her gaze locking with his for just a fraction of a second before embarrassment rushed through her.
She dropped her hand instantly.
Turning away from the mirror, she moved quickly, heading toward the door to get out of the bathroom as if distance alone might save her—
But she didn’t get far.
Magnus reached out and caught her arm before she could take more than two steps. His grip wasn’t rough, but it was firm enough to stop her completely.
“Here.”
He pressed something into her hand.
Sophia blinked and looked down. A small tube rested against her palm.
“For the marks,” he said quietly, his voice low and even. “This will help.”
Her fingers tightened around the tube. Heat crept up her neck, spreading to her cheeks. She didn’t look at him—couldn’t.
Without a word, she turned slightly, intending to pull away.
He didn’t let her.
Instead, he tugged her back again, guiding her until her back met the wall. One hand braced beside her head, palm flat against the cool surface, while the other still held her arm. He stood close. Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him yet he didn’t fully press into her, as if deliberately holding himself back.
His scent—clean, sharp, like the ocean after a storm—wrapped around her, filling her senses until it felt impossible to breathe without taking him in. Her entire awareness narrowed to the space between them.
“I took care of your injuries, Mrs. Graves.” His face dipped toward her ear, voice low, controlled. His breath brushed her skin as he spoke.
A brief pause. He pulled back, his eyes again meeting his. Then, quieter—he added,
“You gave me injuries too.”
Her breath stuttered.
