Lucas watched the door close behind her.
No dramatic goodbye.
No lingering glance.
Just a flustered blur of movement, a muttered “thanks,” and the sound of her footsteps fading down the hall.
He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, the taste of tea still warm on his tongue.
She saw my abs. And panicked.
He didn’t mean to walk out shirtless. He’d assumed she’d left. The guest room door had been closed, the house quiet. He’d just wanted water. A moment to breathe.
But then she turned.
And froze.
And fumbled the tray like it was a live grenade.
Lucas smiled to himself.
She’s expressive. Too expressive.
Most people around him were careful. Controlled. Riven, especially, knew how to read a room and say nothing. But Elara? She was chaos in a cardigan. Her thoughts practically leaked out of her face.
And yet—she stayed.
She’d tucked him in.
Made tea.
Checked his temperature like it was second nature.
No one had done that since Kael.
Not even his family.
Not even Riven.
People respected his space.
Elara had stepped into it.
Not because she was told to.
Because she wanted to.
And when she kissed him—accidentally, clumsily, seal-triggered—it hadn’t felt like a mistake.
It had felt like something waking up.
Lucas walked to the living room, sat on the edge of the couch, and touched the seal beneath his shirt.
Still quiet.
Still warm.
He remembered the way she looked at him after the kiss.
Wide-eyed. Flushed. Apologetic.
But not afraid.
And then this morning—her panic, her babbling, her attempt to escape before she said something stupid.
“Not because of your abs.”
He chuckled.
That was new.
He hadn’t laughed like that in a long time.
Not genuinely.
Not because someone made him feel lighter.
He picked up his phone, thumb hovering over Riven’s contact.
Then paused.
Instead, he opened Elara’s message thread.
No texts.
Just the last one from him, weeks ago: “Meeting moved to 3.”
He stared at the screen.
Then typed:
“You forgot your charger.”
It wasn’t much.
Just a line.
Just an excuse.
But it was real.
She had left it on the side table in the guest room—white cord, slightly frayed, looped neatly like she meant to come back for it.
Lucas pressed send.
Then set the phone down and waited.
Not anxiously.
Not expectantly.
Just… open.
The seal beneath his shirt pulsed once.
Faint.
Like it was listening.
He stood, walked to the window, and watched the city move below. The light was soft. The air still. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he was bracing for something.
He was waiting.
For her.