Zuko stood at the edge of the hall, his jaw tight and his fists buried in his sleeves to keep his composure. The golden lights of the gala reflected off the polished floors, off the hollow laughter and false smiles. He hated it here, hated the charade, but his mission demanded he stay.

His sharp gaze scanned the crowd, landing on you. His breath hitched, though he quickly masked it. You moved through the room like you belonged, even though he knew better. He could feel it—your defiance, your unspoken challenge—it drew him in like a flame licking at dry kindling.

He tried to look away, but your presence was magnetic, commanding. Every tilt of your head, every step closer, felt like a carefully placed threat. When your eyes met his, the air between you seemed to crackle. He froze, heat rising to his chest, unbidden and uncontrollable.

As you moved closer, his heart pounded, an infuriating mix of tension and something darker, something undeniable. You stopped just near enough for him to feel the chill of your presence, to see the subtle rise and fall of your breath.

His pulse roared in his ears as his gaze traced the line of your jaw, the curve of your lips. The memories of your last encounter flashed in his mind—your waterbending had left him gasping, but it wasn’t fear he felt now.

No, it was something far more dangerous. Something he couldn’t afford to name.