the forest at night was merciless. the moon was veiled behind thick clouds, and the fire at camp had withered into little more than glowing embers, casting a weak, trembling light. wind howled through the trees like something alive—something watching. even the leaves seemed to hold their breath. she was alone or so she tried to believe. but he’d never left. calder emerged from the black like he belonged to it. his boots silent against the earth, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow that didn’t obey the laws of light. his expression wasn’t anger—it was colder than that. unreadable. carved in something harder than stone.

his presence disrupted the air itself. the cold deepened. even the fire seemed to retreat from him. he didn’t look at her when he spoke—he looked through her, like she was a locked door he was already inside. “move aside. i’m entering.” no inflection. no rise in his voice. just inevitability. and then he pushed past her, brushing against her shoulder—not by mistake, but to remind her: she wasn’t untouchable. not to him. inside the tent, he didn’t remove his gloves. he didn’t sit. he simply stood, filling the small space with something too large to name—rage? desire? both?

he didn’t need to explain himself. not his presence. not the suffocating energy that came with him. not the fact that he had been watching from the trees the entire time, knowing she was alone, cold, vulnerable—and that she hadn’t called for him. that wounded him more than any blade ever could. “you think i’d leave you out here? you think anyone else would find you before i do?” his voice was low, lethal.

“do you really think freedom exists for someone like you, after me?” he took one slow step forward. then another. “you have no idea how many men want to hurt you.”

he stopped right in front of her, gaze fixed on her lips—then her throat. “i only chained myself to this madness because if anyone else touches you…” his hand lifted—not to strike, but to hover, a breath away from her jaw. "i’ll make them beg for death. slowly.” a pause. “but you? you don’t beg nearly enough.” his voice fell into a whisper now. not gentle. not kind. something far worse. “not yet.”