“Zmelja don’t reuse tunnels like this,” I murmur, tracing the wall lightly with my fingers as we pass. “Once they move on, they don’t come back.”
“Good.”
I almost smile. The further we go, the more the outside world falls away.
The red glare fades completely, replaced by muted shadows and the faint ambient light filtering down through cracks above. The temperature drops another degree, the air stiller.
Contained. Safe.
The word forms, but I don’t say it out loud. I don’t trust my voice enough. My body reacts, steps slowing, breathing evening out without me forcing it. And with that, everything I’ve been holding down pushes closer to the surface.
I stop, not because something is wrong, but because I can’t not. My legs don’t want to take another step. I lean against the curve of the tunnel, not pretending it’s temporary.
“I need a minute,” I admit.
The words feel heavy because I hate saying it. Hate needing it. He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t move away either.
He stays where he is, close enough that I feel the shift of air when he adjusts his stance, his presence filling the space in a way that has nothing to do with size and everything to do with… him.
I close my eyes for a second, just a second. Let the quiet settle in. Let the tension drain a fraction more. And then I feel his hand resting lightly against my arm. Checking.
The contact is not sharp or immediate. More… careful and aware. I open my eyes slowly.
He’s closer. Not by much, but enough that the space between us is smaller. The air warmer. My skin is warmer.
I should move. I know I should. Reset the distance. Reestablish something. I don’t.
Because the way he’s looking at me, it’s not just focus or calculation, it’s something else. Something less controlled that is closer to the surface. The edge I’ve been noticing since this started.
Only now it’s not just sharp. It’s pulling.
My breath shifts, not faster, deeper. His gaze drops, not away. Tracking the movement, the rise and fall of my chest. The way my body reacts to his proximity whether I want it to or not.
Awareness spikes. Sharp. Sudden.
I straighten slightly, pushing off the wall just enough to create space. He tightens his hand just enough to stop the movement before it fully happens. My pulse kicks.
“That’s—” I start.
The words don’t finish because he steps closer, closing the space I just tried to make. The tunnel doesn’t give us much room to begin with. Now there’s none.
My back presses against the wall. This time I don’t pretend it’s by choice. His body is right there.
Heat.
Presence.
Control held just beneath the surface.
Too close.
Too aware.
Every part of me reacts at once.
My breath catches.
My fingers curl slightly against the stone behind me.
