He stood abruptly and crossed to the counter, needing distance, needing motion. “Water?”
“Yes,” she said. “Please. Idon’t think I can handle another cup of coffee.”
He poured it, hands steady despite the tension coiled under his skin. When he handed her the glass, their fingers brushed. This time, neither of them pulled away immediately.Her thumb lingered against his knuckle for the space of a heartbeat.
Alaric’s breath caught.
Sera’s gaze flicked to his mouth, then to his eyes, like she’d made the mistake of noticing him the way he’d been noticing her.She took the glass and turned back to the workstation as if nothing had happened.
Alaric stared at the back of her head for a long moment before forcing himself to sit again.
The longer they stayed in the room, the more the silence changed. It wasn’t empty. It was crowded with things neither of themsaid.
He could’ve broken it.He didn’t.Because he was careful.And because he didn’t yet know what would happen if he stopped being careful.
The final stretch demanded precision. Fatigue bred mistakes, andtemptation to rush hovered close to the surface. Sera countered it with ruthless focus, posture straightening as if she were drawing on a reserve she kept carefully hidden.
“This is the hinge,” shesaid.
He leaned in, shoulder brushing hers, neither of them acknowledging it. The solution unfolded between them. Permissions rewritten. Pathways collapsed. Doors sealed without leaving scars.When it was done, silence filled the room.Not empty silence.Held silence.
Sera leaned back and exhaled. “That’s it.”
The adrenaline didn’t fade.It surged.
Alaric stood, needing movement, poured water again because his hands demanded something to do. When he turned, she was watching him. Not his face.His hands.
He sensed the pull of her gaze like a touch.This wasn’t a mistake. The realization hit with startling clarity. Whatever was happening between them wasn’t exhaustion or proximity or poor judgment.
It was choice.
“Long day,” she said quietly.
“Productive,” he replied.
The space between them tightened. The air shifted, charged. He was acutelyaware of her body, her breath, the way gravity seemed to pull her closer.
“Sera,” he said, warning and invitation wrapped together.
“We should acknowledge this,” she said. “Before it becomes something we pretend didn’t happen.”
“You’re assuming I pretend.”
“I’m assuming you’re careful.”
“I am,” he said. “That doesn’t mean I’m immune.”
Her breath caught.
He waited. Gave her the choice.
When she reached for him, it was deliberate.
He yanked her into his arms, decisive and contained, her body fitting against his like it had always known where togo.
The door closed behindthem.
The consequences would come later.
