But she doesn't refuse.
"Alright," she says quietly. "I could use the air."
We fall into step beside each other, and the pull I've been fighting for weeks intensifies immediately. It's not just attraction, though that's certainly present—a physical awareness of her proximity that makes my skin feel too sensitive. It's something deeper. More fundamental. Like every cell in my body is oriented toward her, drawn by some force I can't identify or control.
I keep a careful distance between us as we walk, my hands firmly at my sides. I haven't touched her since the binding ritual—since wrapping my fingers around her wrist and feeling that overwhelming surge of rightness that nearly dropped me to myknees. Haven't allowed myself to get close enough for accidental contact because I don't trust what might happen if I do.
But Iwantto. The wanting has been building steadily, fed by dreams and proximity and the way she moves through space like she belongs beside me.
"The auction went well," Lenna says after a stretch of silence, her voice breaking through my increasingly unstable thoughts. "For Khorvas, I mean. The Veridian representative seemed genuinely interested in proper placement."
"They made a strong offer." I keep my gaze forward, watching the path ahead rather than risking a glance at her. "Pending final contract review tomorrow, but the terms are acceptable."
"He'll do well there. They have a good reputation for long-term beast care."
The observation surprises me enough that I do look at her then. "How would you know that?"
She blinks, confusion flickering across her features. "I... I'm not sure. I just do."
The admission settles uneasily between us. Because she shouldn't know that. House Veridian's reputation isn't common knowledge among human laborers, especially not those who've spent their entire careers in isolated stable systems. Yet she stated it with the same casual certainty she uses when discussing Azhrael's behavioral patterns or containment requirements.
Like it's knowledge she's always possessed, even if she can't explain where it came from.
We continue walking, and I feel that pull growing stronger. More insistent. My body wants to close the distance between us, to reach for her the way I do in the dreams that feel too real. To touch her and confirm that she's solid, present,hererather than another phantom conjured by my increasingly unreliable subconscious.
I look at her properly then—really look, taking in the way moonlight catches in her hair and shadows emphasize the curve of her jaw. The way she moves beside me with unconscious grace, her posture relaxed in a way it rarely is during daylight hours.
And I'm hit with another one.
Not quite a dream. Not quite a memory. Something in between that slams into me with physical force.
This same path. This same moonlight. But Lenna leaning into my side, her shoulder pressing against my arm as we walk. She's smiling up at me—that genuine warmth I've only seen her show the beasts—and I'm saying something that makes her laugh. The sound fills the air between us, and my hand finds the small of her back automatically, pulling her closer. She fits against me perfectly, like she's always belonged there.
I stumble slightly, the present snapping back into focus with disorienting abruptness. My breath comes shorter, and I have to consciously steady myself before continuing forward.
"Are you alright?" Lenna asks, concern threading through her voice. She's stopped walking, turned toward me with that observant attention she usually reserves for the beasts.
"Fine." The word comes out rougher than intended. "Just—tired. It's been a long day."
She studies me for a moment longer, and I feel that gaze like physical touch. Assessing. Reading. Seeing more than I'm comfortable showing.
"Why are you staring at me?" she asks quietly.
Because you feel like something I lost and can't remember losing. Because touching you during the binding ritual felt like coming home. Because I've been dreaming of you for weeks in contexts that shouldn't exist but feel more real than my waking life.
I don't say any of that. Can't say any of that without sounding completely unhinged.
Instead, I shake my head sharply, trying to dislodge the lingering impression of that vision—memory—whatever it was. "I'm not. I was just..." I trail off, because I have no good explanation for the way I've been looking at her.
But my body isn't listening to logic anymore.
I step toward her. One movement, closing the space between us without conscious decision. Just responding to that magnetic pull that's been building for weeks, that intensified the moment she arrived at my stables and proceeded to turn everything I thought I knew upside down.
Lenna's breath catches. I hear it clearly in the quiet night air, watch her chest rise and fall faster as I move closer still. She should step back. Should maintain appropriate distance and professional boundaries and all the structural safety we've been carefully preserving.
She doesn't.
Instead, she leans in. Just slightly, just enough that I feel the shift in the air between us, the way her body orients toward mine like she can't help it either.
