A Love Unspoken

The days that followed Xavier's confession were filled with an unsettling mixture of normality and tension. Helena had always been aware of his presence—his quiet intensity, the way his piercing silver eyes watched her when he thought she wasn't looking. But now, every glance felt heavier, every unspoken word weighed down by the uncertainty between them.

She wasn't blind to the fact that Xavier was giving her space. He no longer pushed, no longer lingered too close. And yet, it was the very distance she had asked for that made her heart ache the most.

This couldn't go on.

So on a warm evening, beneath the violet hues of a dying sunset, she found him in the garden. The roses bloomed vibrantly around them, their heady scent filling the air. Xavier sat on the stone bench, his black shirt stretched over his toned frame, his forearms resting on his thighs as he absently toyed with the leather strap of his wrist guard. He looked like a man deep in thought—troubled, perhaps even resigned.

Helena swallowed the lump in her throat and stepped closer. "Xavier."

His head lifted, and when their eyes met, she felt that familiar pull between them—the unexplainable force that always made it impossible to stay away.

"I-I know I've been distant," she began, voice uncertain. "And I'm sorry. I needed time to understand what this... connection between us means."

Xavier's expression was unreadable, but she didn't miss the flicker of something in his gaze—hope, or maybe fear of being let down again. "And have you?" he asked, his voice quiet, controlled.

Helena hesitated before lowering herself onto the bench beside him, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, her fingers twisting together. "I think so," she admitted softly. "But it's not easy for me to say. Especially with everything that's at stake."

Xavier exhaled slowly, then turned to face her fully. Without hesitation, he reached for her hands, his fingers closing around hers with a gentleness that contradicted his warrior-like nature. His touch was warm, grounding.

"Helena," he murmured. "I understand your hesitation. But please—don't be afraid to tell me what's in your heart."

Helena's chest tightened. She had spent so long convincing herself that opening up to him would make her weak, that allowing herself to feel would only put them both at risk. But the way Xavier looked at her now—like she was the only thing that mattered—made her realize the truth.

She wasn't weak for feeling this way.

She was weak for pretending she didn't.

Before she could speak, a sudden chill swept through the air. The roses trembled, their petals wilting in an unnatural gust of wind.

Xavier stiffened instantly, his grip on her hands tightening as his gaze flicked toward the treeline. The fading sunlight barely touched the shadows beyond the garden, but Helena felt it—something dark watching them, waiting.

Lucian.

He was close.

The moment between them shattered. Xavier stood in one fluid motion, pulling Helena up with him. His body shifted protectively in front of hers as he scanned the darkness.

"Inside," he said firmly.

Helena didn't argue. But as she followed him back toward the safehouse, her heart pounded for two reasons.

Because danger was near.

And because she had almost told Xavier how she truly felt.

And now… she wasn't sure if she'd get another chance.