A Line in the Sand

Kaelith did not move.

He remained inches from her, his breath warm against her lips, his fingers still resting lightly on her arm.

A predator, waiting. Watching.

Seraphine knew what he wanted.

A reaction. A confession.

But she refused to give him either.

Instead, she smiled—a slow, deliberate curve of her lips, letting her fingers skim the edge of his tunic before retreating.

"If you followed me," she murmured, voice silky, "then you already know where I went."

Kaelith exhaled a quiet laugh, dark, amused.

"Do I?"

His fingers tightened—just barely. Not enough to bruise, but enough to tell her he wasn't playing anymore.

"You were careful," he admitted. "But not careful enough."

Seraphine's pulse remained steady. "Then tell me," she challenged, "what did you see?"

Kaelith tilted his head, his lips so close, teasing the edge of temptation.

"I saw a wife," he whispered, "who does not belong to her husband."

Seraphine's breath hitched, but only for a second.

A second too long.

Kaelith caught it—and he smiled.

He had won something tonight. A piece of her. A crack in her mask.

Seraphine exhaled slowly, shifting back, forcing space between them.

"You overestimate your importance," she said, voice smooth. "If I wanted to slip away from you, I would."

Kaelith's smirk darkened.

"Then why haven't you?"

Silence.

The tension between them thickened, the weight of unspoken truths pressing in.

Kaelith did not break eye contact.

Neither did Seraphine.

And in that moment, she knew—this was far from over.

Kaelith had not come here to seduce her.

He had come to break her.

And if she wasn't careful, he just might succeed.