She moved like a spark in slow motion—barefoot, wrapped in something silk and far too casual for a night that required diplomacy. Erik stood by the window, jaw set, watching the dignitaries assemble below. His helmet rested on the table, forgotten for once.

Behind him, the air shifted. A flicker of her power stirred the curtains, warm and sharp as spice on the tongue. She wasn’t trying to get his attention—she already had it. She always did.

He didn’t turn, but he could feel her passing—picking at fruit from the tray, pacing like a storm deciding where to land. Her energy filled the room the way fire devours oxygen, reckless and radiant.

Even in silence, she disrupted every thought. Even without a word, she unsettled the steel in his spine.

She was chaos. She was power.

And she was his.