***A Night of Tension and Unspoken Words**

The dim candlelight flickered against the rough wooden walls, casting elongated shadows across the small, intimate space. The air inside the room was thick, not just with the scent of burning wax and aged timber but with something far heavier—an unspoken tension that neither Eliana nor Kieran dared acknowledge. 

Eliana stood near the bed, her arms crossed, her heartbeat a steady drum against her ribs. She refused to look at Kieran, even though she could feel his gaze on her. 

She was painfully aware of how small the room was, how the walls seemed to close in around them. The only furniture was a modest wooden table and a single bed covered in thick furs—furs that suddenly seemed too inviting, too dangerous. 

*Damn Caelan.* 

If he hadn't selfishly claimed a room for himself, she wouldn't be in this predicament. 

"Are you planning to stand there all night?" Kieran's voice was low, rough like the scrape of steel against stone. 

She lifted her chin, meeting his intense stare. His golden eyes glowed faintly in the candlelight, sharp and unreadable. 

"You're taking the floor," she announced. 

Kieran's lips curled into a smirk. "Am I?" 

"Yes." 

His smirk deepened as he stepped closer, his presence like a storm rolling in. The air between them crackled. 

"I don't mind the floor," he murmured, his voice laced with something dark, something **dangerous**. "But I doubt you'll be able to sleep knowing I'm so close." 

Her breath hitched, and she *hated* that he was right. 

*Damn him.* 

She turned her back to him, pretending to busy herself with the blanket on the bed. But then she felt it—the warmth of his body behind her, the slow, deliberate way he closed the distance. 

"Eliana," he murmured, his voice brushing against the nape of her neck. 

A shiver ran down her spine. 

She spun to face him, but her balance wavered, and suddenly, **his hands were on her waist**. Firm, steady, like he'd always meant to touch her. 

Her pulse pounded against her throat. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his fingers flexed slightly against her skin. 

*Kieran never touched people without reason.* 

And yet, here he was, **touching her**. 

Her hands instinctively landed on his chest, intending to push him away—but the second her palms met the hard muscle beneath his shirt, all thought fled her mind. 

"Eliana…" 

His voice was softer now, almost hesitant. His fingers flexed again, as if testing whether she would pull away. 

But she didn't. 

She *couldn't*. 

Her body betrayed her, leaning closer instead of retreating. 

Then, **he kissed her**. 

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't slow. 

It was *fire and desperation*, like something he had been holding back for far too long. His lips pressed against hers, demanding, claiming, and she—**she kissed him back**. 

Her hands fisted the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as his arms wrapped around her, anchoring her to him. The heat between them was intoxicating, a slow burn that threatened to consume her whole. 

Kieran's hands slid upward, his fingers grazing the bare skin of her back beneath her tunic. A gasp left her lips, and he took advantage of it, deepening the kiss until she could no longer think, only feel. 

His scent surrounded her—**woodsmoke, steel, and something undeniably him**. 

Her heart thundered against her ribs. 

His fingers found the laces at the back of her tunic, and suddenly, she was **dangerously close to losing herself**. 

Then— 

A sharp **knock** shattered the moment. 

Eliana yanked herself back, her breathing ragged. 

Kieran cursed under his breath, his grip on her tightening for a split second before he let her go. 

"Eliana?" A cealan voice called from the other side of the door. "Kieran? The food is ready." 

Eliana pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady her racing heart. 

Kieran exhaled harshly, running a hand through his hair before stepping away. His eyes burned into hers, still filled with everything that had just happened—and everything that *could* have. 

"Go," he said, voice rough with restraint. 

Eliana hesitated. 

Then she turned and wrenched the door open, stepping out into the cool night air, leaving behind the warmth of Kieran's body and the ghost of his lips against hers. 

The villagers had prepared a feast for them, a show of gratitude for Eliana's past kindness. 

At the center of the open-air dining area, a fire crackled, its flames licking at the dark sky. Wooden tables were piled with roasted meats, thick stews, and fresh bread. The scent of spices and herbs filled the air, mingling with the sounds of quiet laughter and clinking wooden cups. 

Eliana sat beside Amelia, who was still clinging to her like a child afraid she might vanish. Across from her, Kieran sat in brooding silence, his gaze flickering to her every so often. 

Caelan, on the other hand, was grinning like he had won some great battle. 

"So," he drawled, leaning back in his chair. "Since we're all here, I suppose it's time for me to tell my story." 

Eliana arched a brow. "*Your* story?" 

"Yes." Caelan took a deep breath, his usual playfulness dimming just slightly. "You see, I wasn't always this handsome and charming." 

Eliana rolled her eyes. 

"I was just an ordinary guy," he continued, his fingers toying with the edge of his cup. "A thief, really. Pickpocketing, stealing from merchants—nothing too dramatic. I was good at it, though. Really good." 

His grin faltered. 

"But then, one day, I was given a… task. A *mission*, if you will." 

Eliana tilted her head. "A mission?" 

Caelan's gaze flickered to her. "To find you." 

Silence settled over the table. 

Eliana stiffened. "What?" 

"I don't know who gave the order," Caelan admitted. "I was just told to find you, follow you, and… if necessary, *save* you." 

Eliana's heart pounded. "Save me from what?" 

Caelan hesitated. "I don't know." 

Lies. 

She could see it in his face. 

"Caelan," Kieran's voice was a warning. 

Caelan sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Look, I don't have all the answers, okay? All I know is that I was given a **gift**—the ability to see glimpses of the future. Not always, not clearly, but enough to know that I had to find you." 

Eliana's blood ran cold. 

Her entire life, she had been hunted. Used. Betrayed. 

Now Caelan was telling her that **someone else had been looking for her all along**? 

Kieran's gaze darkened. "Who sent you, Caelan?" 

Caelan shook his head. "I don't know." 

Another lie. 

But before Eliana could press further, Amelia tugged at her sleeve, her small voice breaking the heavy silence. 

"You're safe now," the little girl whispered. 

Eliana swallowed hard, looking at Amelia's innocent face. 

Safe. 

She had never truly been safe. 

And if what Caelan was saying was true… **she never would be.**